We're Just Kids
by crypticperson019
Summary: Modern. Friendship evolves, love springs, trust builds, enemies tear it down; it's just the life of the Friends of ABC.
1. Just Freshman

**All rights remain.  
>There will be very faint pairings. In compendium, EnjolrasGrantaire, Combeferre/Courfeyrac, Marius/Cosette.**

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><p>As freshman of high school, life was not too terribly exciting. No one knew why parents had to make such a fuss about it. It really felt no different than middle school with the exception of grades actually counting (perhaps that was a big difference).<p>

Enjolras and Combeferre had been best friends for as long as they could remember. They have grown nearly inseparable; Enjolras had even gone so far as to attending the same high school of Combeferre if he were to attend any high school. And though Enjolras's parents desired him to go elsewhere, they eventually gave in.

_"You can be a fool, Enjolras," Combeferre said as he sat down to listen to Enjolras's tale._

_"You ameliorate my life—you can't expect me to be separated from you," Enjolras argued pointedly but smiled all the same._

Feuilly and Joly have been friends for a decade. They met at a parade and instantly felt a mutual friendship between them. Feuilly was the only one who understood Joly and his anxiety of germs. And Feuilly even went out to buy hand purifier for Joly every two weeks as a sign of their friendship and Joly offered company when Feuilly was making fans.

_"I don't think it's abberrant," Joly reassured as he thanked Feuilly for the hand purifier._

_"Thank you," Feuilly said with an air of relief, but he was in ambivalence._

Bossuet and Bahorel were instant magnets to each other; they had met in at a baseball game during a fight. But Bossuet in the fight, in fact, he was merely sitting when Bahorel's fist came from nowhere and hit Bousset in the jaw. Bossuet was notorious for his bad luck, although he loved to crack jokes about it.

_"I really didn't mean to hit you," Bahorel said and ran over to check the man over._

_"I daresay that is one hell of a wake-up call," Bossuet said and rubbed his jaw, "who were you trying to belt, anyway?"_

Marius had met Éponine Thénardier at a young age and remained friends with her throughout their childhood and well into their way of high school. However, their living conditions were extremely opposite. Éponine was a poor girl who lived in a poor flat with her family whilst Marius was a rich young boy.

_"They say opposite are really the same," Marius said as he and Éponine sat on a bench._

_"That's the most inaccurate yet accurate thing I've heard," Éponine replied._

Courfeyrac, Grantaire, and Jehan were like brothers. They had planned that when they were eighteen, they'd rent an apartment and live together. They met when they were young—Grantaire and Courfeyrac met when they were very young children of family friends. And they met Jehan when kids were picking on him for his love of poetry.

_"Leave him alone," Grantaire growled as he and Courfeyrac firmly planted themselves in front of the other boy. The other children looked surprised then shrugged with nonchalance and began muttering to themselves when they walked away._

_"Thanks," Jehan said a little breathlessly._

_"You're a keeper," Grantaire said and plucked the flower from the boy's hair and tucked it behind his ear._

And now they were all moving forward to high school. Little did they know that their future family was sitting right next to them in classes.

Courfeyrac, Jehan and Grantaire were playing hangman on Courfeyrac's notebook in geometry. Grantaire was in geometry in seventh and eighth grade. His parents insisted on keeping him forward in his academics and refused to leave him be.

But, despite his impressive position with math, his heart was with art. "_Art is my heart_" is what Grantaire would say. He was sick of geometry and though he was far from a mathematician, he sat in the corner with Jehan and Courfeyrac and messed around.

His eyes would scan the room in case the teacher would decide to start walking around the classroom; and while he was at it, his eyes landed on the two blondes sitting next to each other and whispering fiercely.

"I've been in this class for nearly four months and I still don't know everyone here. Who are those two?" Grantaire asked, pointing to the pair.

"That one with the glasses is called Combeferre. He is in my Honors English class," Jehan whispered back and wrote the letter _U _for Courfeyrac. He nodded and marked it down.

"Enjolras is in our Honors History class, R," Courfeyrac said, looking up and nudging Grantaire, who had the same hour of history with Courfeyrac.

"I never bothered to get to know people who I don't care about," Grantaire muttered.

"Both are extremely smart," Courfeyrac said and nudged Grantaire again under the table. Grantaire raised his eyebrows at the boy as he could feel his friend's hand tap the attachment on his hip.

"May I be excused?" Courfeyrac said, shooting his hand into the air. "I'm feeling dizzy."

The teacher nodded and was about to turn around until Grantaire rose to his feet.

"I'll assist him," he insisted, "is it not one of the policy acts or something that states you must accompany an ill person to the office? We'll be off then."

Grantaire and Courfeyrac seized their backpacks, slung them over their shoulders, and silently filed out of the classroom. Their math building consisted of arithmetic levels of grade school to high school and they were on the third floor.

"Is it filled?" Courfeyrac asked, gazing at the bottle at Grantaire's hip.

"It always is," Grantaire said and flicked his eyebrows upward with an air of arrogance.

Through their four months of nonstop exploring the schools before or after school, they had discovered the very few places that were not under cameras. It was the courtyard garden down by the lake and the garages, oddly enough.

"Then onward," Courfeyrac said as the two stepped down by the lake. Grantaire had removed the bottle on his hip, which actually was a small and silver flask, and handed it to his friend as he downed some. Courfeyrac wiped the back of his mouth and handed it to Grantaire.

"Good lie," the cynical teenager said with a grin, "kept me up for that one."

"I am a good improviser," Courfeyrac joked and took the flask again, stretching out his legs, "besides, it's the last class of the day before we go back to homeroom then leave."

"Speaking of which, what time is it?" Grantaire asked, mentally cursing himself for forgetting his phone at home.

"15:56," Courfeyrac read right from his phone, whose time was set in military. Grantaire had finished the small flask and stowed it away. It was terrible because both of their faces had a red tinge from the small amount they consumed. He hated and downright refused to admit that he was a lightweight.

"Then let's go," he sighed and hauled himself to his feet, thankful that his feet were steady. Their homeroom was in another building, three away from the math; but the two took a slightly different route, keeping to the lake's shore. It wasn't until they heard their names being called that they stopped.

T'was the two blondes.

"I-I'm Combeferre," the one with glasses said breathlessly, "and this is Enjolras. We have a few classes together; you left during math so I wanted.." the boy trailed off and the one called Enjolras stamped his foot impatiently.

"Come on, 'Ferre," the other said and folded his arms across his chest, not letting the messenger bag fall, "we haven't all day. You said you wanted to talk to them—here they are, mon ami. Don't back out now and say what you desire."

Courfeyrac and Grantaire looked at the speaker in surprise. Grantaire, ignoring the swooping sensation is his chest from deep within, managed to push his thoughts away to scrutinize the blonde teenager.

This one had pulchritudinous, blue, blazing eyes that seemed to light a fire of passion that captivated anyone whom he spoke to. He bore lush, golden, wavy hair that seemed to soak in the sun and radiate it back—no, his entire _self_ seemed to out-shine the brilliant sun. Grantaire felt himself simply _drawn_ to this alluring person.

He wore a white shirt underneath his red jacket with skinny black pants and converse. Grantaire was annoyed that this person could pull off the skinny black pants and converse with a white shirt better than he could. He always wore those kinds of pants and converse with plain mono-colored shirts with his black jacket—he deemed it to himself.

Then his eyes traveled to Enjolras's friend. He wore very formal khaki pants and converse with a very plain long sleeved blue shirt. His glasses would sometimes slip down his nose but the teenager would catch them and right them back into position.

Lastly, Grantaire looked at Courfeyrac. His sense of fashion tended to be a bit more far-fetched than the others. He wore skinny pants of all sorts of colors (his favorite were his red, white, black, or blue pants) with average shirts (or even throwing on one of his cardigans).

"What is Apollo talking about?" Grantaire asked, letting the words fall from his lips before he could catch them.

"Well, 'Ferre wants to talk to you two about geometry—he is a very exquisite student and his notes are reliable and precise. He—wait, what did you call me?" Apollo stopped from his practiced and seemingly prepared speech and stuttered out the last bit in surprise.

"I called you Apollo," Grantaire replied but waved it off dismissively, "what does he want to talk to us about, pray tell?"

"Ihavetodaysnotesthatyoumissed."

There was no way anyone understood him (with that exception of Enjolras who stamped his foot on Combeferre's).

"Sorry?" Courfeyrac said with a slight frown.

"There was no humanely possible way anyone—anyone could have understood a single word that you have just announced, mon ami," Grantaire added in agreement.

"Could you repeat the last bit and the bit in the middle and the beginning part?" Courfeyrac asked, noticing that Grantaire was smiling in amusement.

"I have today's notes that you missed," Combeferre said after clearing his throat, "I thought you would need them just in case—"

"—just in case you two actually deem geometry important," Enjolras interrupted and motioned for Combeferre to hand his notebook over. "The notes are all in there if you are interested in taking a look."

"Wow—thanks Combeferre," Courfeyrac said and flipped through the notebook, "I appreciate it."

"We'll return it tomorrow morning," Grantaire piped up after unconsciously staring in the general direction of his radiant Greek god. The two started to turn around when they heard a faint "wait" behind them.

"Were you actually ill?" Enjolras asked with a raised eyebrow.

"Nah," Courfeyrac said dismissively and grinned lopsidedly, "but it was enough to convince the teacher, eh? There were five minutes of class left, anyway."

"Ah, I figured," Enjolras said then waved curtly, "we'll see you two around school, then?"

Grantaire winked then walked off, not seeing Enjolras's flushing face. He was busy talking with Courfeyrac. They were both poring over the notes they received until Courfeyrac set it in the grass and pulled out his phone.

"What are you doing?" Grantaire asked, genuinely confused.

"Taking a picture of the notes so you can have the notebook," Courfeyrac replied and took a few before stowing it back into his back pocket.

"I don't think Combeferre meant for me to take the notes," Grantaire countered. He shifted uncomfortably but Courfeyrac shook it off

"Nonsense," he said in a singsong voice, "he meant for both of us seeing as we were both gone."

Grantaire shoved the notebook into his messenger bag while Courfeyrac slung his over his shoulder. The two hiked their way back to their homeroom. Upon entering, they were nearly tackled by a Jehan.

"Bonjour mon petit poéte ami!" Grantaire said and laughed. "Comment allez-vous?"

"Tu n'es pas formelle, R," Courfeyrac said with a wave of his friend. "Salut, Jehan."

"Salut," Jehan said with a smile that turned to a slight frown, "what was that little scene in geometry about?"

"Who doesn't want a little booze from time to time?" Grantaire asked with a wink—he plucked out one of Jehan's pencils and stuck it behind his ear. "Makes me look more desirable, eh?"

Jehan's frown slackened slightly. "Where are you two headed after school?"

"I've got to copy down these notes sometime," Grantaire said and quickly launched into the story of Enjolras and Combeferre. The poet listened well as he nodded occasionally.

"Good for him," Jehan said finally, "he's a good student who excels at what he does. His notes will be very precise. Would you care to copy my notes down at my house?"

Grantaire simply could not pass up a chance to go to a real home. Jehan was an only child, born into a notoriously and fabulously wealthy family. His house was large; and although Grantaire's father was a successful business man with a wife of an anesthesiologist—he hated his house.

"I know my parents wouldn't mind," Courfeyrac chirped happily.

"I know my parents wouldn't care," Grantaire said with simplicity, then grinned, "you wouldn't mind us ragged boys to denigrate your family honor?"

Jehan waved Grantaire's comment off with a hand but smiled all the way. They were waiting for the teacher's dismissal and literally bolted out the classroom when the bell ended the day. The three hurried down the stairs and burst from inside. The glorious wind was back on Grantaire's face.

"You look like a man who has seen the light for the first time in years," Jehan said as he plucked out a small flower from the bush and twirled it in his fingers.

"Take the pin upon my breast and burnish the center of the soul. To wait and condone the contumacious man—for he is a fledgling," Grantaire cited and smirked when both Courfeyrac and Jehan looked at him, thoroughly shocked. "Write that down, little poet."

Grantaire removed the pencil from behind his ear and nudged it into Jehan's hands and gently pulled the flower and stuck it in place of the pencil. Jehan and Courfeyrac suppressed their laughter.

However, before any other words were exchanged, Courfeyrac and someone else had collided (and by the sounds of it) painfully, sending them both sprawled upon the pavement.

"What a dastardly man," Courfeyrac mumbled but Grantaire had learned to become immune to Courfeyrac's occasional sharp tongue. However, the other student that had fallen, raised his head in a flurry of apologies.

"Relax," Grantaire said with a chuckle, he was kneeling beside Courfeyrac, "he was joking."

The other student sat up, looking flustered, and Grantaire had looked at him carefully. This student had short dark hair and a multitude of freckles and a very shy look about him as he stumbled over his words.

"Right," the other said, "I'm still sorry."

Courfeyrac grinned, dropping the act and held out a hand for the other. "Who are you?"

"Marius Pontmercy," the boy said and graciously accepted the offered hand, "I'm a freshman but I don't think we have any classes together."

"I don't believe we do," Grantaire said with a slight smile.

"Uh, excuse the pun, but it's been nice running into you," Courfeyrac joked, his eyes danced with amusement and pure bubbly-ness.

"Ahhhh," Grantaire and Jehan groaned at the same time when Courfeyrac burst out laughing.

The three seemed like an odd trio in Marius's opinion but to their opinion, Marius looked like an average and awkward student. Grantaire thought he was worth talking to again, so he remained polite. Jehan thought he had a softer side to him that he would love to get to know better, and Courfeyrac knew that Marius lacked the confidence he had.

"You're too precious," Grantaire said as they walked away, "Courf, you're _embarrassing_ us."

"I'm calling that a lie," Courfeyrac protested and pointed a finger at Grantaire, "you'd be a lonely mess without me, you two. You two love me."

The three were at ease the entire car ride; Jehan's parents were easy-going and kind and certainly more welcoming than Grantaire's parents. Jehan's home was made of white stone (something Grantaire preferred over white marble). It had an elegant and classy touch that Grantaire fell in love with at first sight.

"It is good to be home," Courfeyrac joked while Grantaire and Jehan laughed.

The trio raced to the two-story foyer and hurried to Jehan's room. It was the first door of the second floor—it might as well have been the only room for it was huge. His parent's room was on the third floor. The three set aside their messenger bags and two sat on the bed while the other sat on the chair beside the desk.

Jehan's room had several notebooks scattered about the two desks he had in his room and some even littered the floor beside his bed. There were two large windows with the desks facing outwards. He had two bookshelves filled to the top with poetry; and he owned a dresser with a lamp.

"Homework?" Jehan asked.

Grantaire left the comfort of the bed to rummage through his bag. He pulled out a sketchbook and a pencil and started pacing the room. As he passed the bed, Courfeyrac leaped forward and seized Grantaire waist-round and pulled them both back to the bed.

"Courf!" Grantaire protested as he nearly lost the sketchbook in the tumble.

"I caught a Grantaire!" Courfeyrac announced and Jehan chuckled heartily.

"Courf—people might start to believe you are in love with the cynic and not every other girl in the school," Grantaire chirped and turned in Courfeyrac's arm.

"You know I can't love my brother," Courfeyrac said and tapped Grantaire's nose with his finger, "not even a 'hot shot' like you."

"Never call me that again," Grantaire joked with a grimace, "that's the worst pick-up line I've ever heard."

"What? That's worse than R's pick-up line 'I would climb you like a tree'?" Jehan asked in deriding surprise.

"The next person I see that I know I will never see again will be the one I will pull out that pick-up line, okay?" Grantaire asked and flashed him a grin; he then proceeded to the window and half sat on Jehan's lap as he looked outward.

"Look!" Grantaire said after there was barely a pause. "A girl I don't recognize."

"I would pay big money to see you say that to someone," Courfeyrac said and sat up, "what are you waiting for, R? Go on, I want to see this."

"I don't know if I do," Jehan said but his temptation drove him forward, plus the hand of Courfeyrac around his wrist did not offer him much of an opinion. Grantaire was the first to walk out—he sauntered to the front door and swung it wide open.

The girl was across the street from him—his eyes followed her movements as she seemed rather engrossed in a book. She wore a very modest green shirt with modest jeans and sandals. Her hair was tied back into an elegant knot in the back of her head.

Grantaire and his friends all hurried across the street. Courfeyrac and Jehan fell in step behind her and Grantaire hurried to impede her path. Grantaire cast his gaze on her; he could not help but notice how her features curved into an impassive expression. Grantaire had really forgotten himself for half a second as he looked at her blue eyes. And her blonde hair, although not as golden as Apollo's, was more white-blonde than golden (but still beautiful).

"Excusez-moi?" the girl asked as she slowly closed her book and tucked it neatly under her arm.

Grantaire looked over the girl's shoulder and gave the thumbs up to his friends. He turned to her. "Do you like to climb trees?"

The girl looked slightly surprised at his inquiry but she frowned slightly. "Papa always chided me whenever I did but I did enjoy the challenge."

"Well, I'd climb you like a tree," Grantaire said with a wink, "it's been nice meeting you. I am R, by the way but my real name is—"

"Grantaire, I know. I think the whole school knows your name by now. I hope to not sound boorish," the girl said and shifted her weight on her feet. "I have got some work to do at home—it's been nice seeing you, Grantaire."

Grantaire blushed furiously as she hummed to herself, brushing past Grantaire and resuming her way to her house, wherever it may be. Courfeyrac and Jehan came to join them as they latter burst out in suppressed laughter.

* * *

><p>"Come over, 'Ferre," Enjolras pleaded. "I refuse to talk to my parents right now."<p>

"I'd like to," Combeferre said with a shrug, "I know what it is like to have agitating parents and we all get into fights here and there. But I would also like to point out that—"

"Save me from the lecture and let's head home," Enjolras interrupted and fiddled with the bag's strap around his slender shoulder. Combeferre chuckled as the two hurried down the sidewalk.

It was a comfortable walk—they talked about whatever came to mind. They enjoyed the bits of silence (that really did not last for very long). Their conversations would go from place to place.

"Have you ever been to Italy?" Combeferre asked as they rounded another corner.

"I have," Enjolras apprised and gave a small smile, "I rather enjoyed the sights. I actually went to Venice two years ago."

The two had made their way to Enjolras's house; the size of the house was impressive, much more so than Combeferre's. It was three stories with a grand backyard; it was made of exquisite brick. In other words, Enjolras's house was not analogous to Combeferre's.

The two marched right up to the third floor without exchanging any words; when Enjolras closed the door behind him, he visibly relaxed and sat down on the bed beside him.

Enjolras's room was neat and orderly and nearly empty. With such an immense amount of room, Enjolras had a bed, a desk, a closet, and a glass shelf that held books of human rights and dignity.

"Are you in a feud with your parents?" Combeferre asked, placing him across Enjolras on the bed.

"When are we not?" Enjolras groaned and fell back on to the bed, tugging at Combeferre's sleeve. "Lay down, it's good for the back."

Combeferre chortled and sighed, leaning back and looking at the uninteresting ceiling. But, when something struck him, he sat upright and turned to look at his friend. Combeferre, in turn, looked confused.

"Who were those two we were talking to earlier today?" he asked.

"Courfeyrac and R," Combeferre replied uneasily and sat up, too.

"I do not know what made me think of them right now—R?" Enjolras broke off and looked at him with a raised eyebrow. "Did you say 'R'?"

"I did," his friend replied and righted his glasses that were beginning to slip, "but that's not his real name; it's Grantaire—but Grantaire sounds like 'grand R' and so he goes by either or. Why aren't you fond of him?"

"I never said I wasn't," Enjolras said indignantly, "he's assiduous, no doubt, but he's a drunkard and only at the age of fourteen."

"He doesn't drink often, he carries around a little flask," Combeferre dared to argue, "and believe it or not, he's very smart."

"I never said he wasn't," Enjolras apprised but sat back with arms folded neatly across his chest, "but what sparked your curiosity in them?"

Combeferre merely shrugged but he turned away to hide the little smile that threatened to make its way on to his lips.

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><p>"Is that Grantaire?"<p>

Enjolras and Combeferre had come early to school and had been roaming around down by the lake. Surprisingly enough, they found someone else lodging beside the rocky shore westward. It was one of the two kids that they met yesterday. They stopped beside the student.

"Are you okay?" Combeferre asked, stooping down beside him.

"M'fine," Grantaire reassured then cracked a small grin, "I've your notebook. S'on the top of'all the other books."

Enjolras had pulled out the green notebook from the bag and hastily set it beside Combeferre before backing up and looking awkwardly at the side; Grantaire, whose blue eyes were watching Enjolras, chuckled heartily and let the smile fall upon his features.

"What? No castigation from Apollo?" he slurred drowsily.

"I barely know your name," Enjolras said, slightly indignant, "don't be so bombastic when you are drunk. Why are you out here? Did you sleep here?"

Combeferre stood up and allowed Grantaire some room to sit up; the student rubbed his eyes wearily and flexed his wrist. The dark curls upon his head were slightly mussed but better for someone who had slept on the ground.

"H'ng on," Grantaire muttered, his speech was certainly slurred, "there's clothes." He rummaged through and pulled out a different shirt that was mono-colored blue. He shrugged off his black jacket, slipped off his other shirt, then changed into the new. He lay back down and looked at the sky.

"Will we see you in class?" Combeferre asked, ducking down to retrieve his messenger bag.

"M'sure," Grantaire said with a smile, "jus' can't talk for a while until all this wears off."

Just then, there were two different voices that shouted his name. Grumbling, Grantaire sat up, but his eyes brightened when he saw who it was. Courfeyrac and Jehan came sprinting towards him, their bags swinging wildly at their shoulders.

"This morning might just be bearable if I've got these people to assuage the hangover," Grantaire joked then broke out into a full grin as his friends fell into the grass beside him.

"He's drunk," Combeferre apprised as they readjusted themselves into a more comfortable position. But the lack of surprise or shock or of any kind of emotion brought Combeferre (and Enjolras, though he was better at hiding it) into a confused expression.

"All right, Jehan," Courfeyrac said and rubbed his hands on his skinny red pants, "I think we should get him home, then. His parents are out, remember? We'll tell the teachers he's ill."

"Okay—then we should probably walk him home. He doesn't live too far away. He lives near Rue des Rosiers. We can make it back in time for our first hour," Jehan decided with a thoughtful expression upon his face. His blue eyes looked calculating.

"I'm still here," Grantaire protested, sounding somewhat edgy, "I can stay. I am perfectly capable of keeping my drunkenness unnoticeable. I actually insist—I'm going to get started on my art project. Relax, Jehan, I am okay."

He pulled out a notebook and pencil and eraser, flipping it open, until Jehan beamed and slapped his hand down before Grantaire could turn another page.

"I love this one!" Jehan exclaimed. "I want to write a poem that goes along with it; I think your art would make my poems look so much better."

The party of five looked down to see what Jehan had marked down. Grantaire, for the first time, felt slightly nervous when everyone leaned in to peer closer. It was particularly hard to focus when Enjolras knelt down directly beside him to look at the image.

"It's not quite finished. In fact, I think I might have given up on this one," Grantaire stuttered, swallowing painfully, suddenly sounding very sober and very nervous, "yes, that's what I've done."

"Why?" Enjolras asked, trailing his eyes over the pencil marks. "I think it's aesthetic."

Grantaire blinked in surprise and opened his mouth to say something—but he quickly realized that his voice had died in his throat and he closed it again, suddenly feeling like out of all the pictures he drew, this one might just be his favorite.

**Thank you for reading. I hope you enjoyed it. Feel free to review if you desire.**


	2. Halfway Sophomores

**All rights remain.**

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><p>"Wait, wait—what are your names?"<p>

A group of five have soon become inseparable; now, as sophomores in high school, nothing has changed. The group spent every sparing moment together if they could help it. They learned a load about each other over the course of ninth grade.

Enjolras wanted to be a politician, economist, or lawyer. He was passionate and a natural leader (and if humans established dominance statuses like dogs, he'd be the alpha). He was very rarefied and somewhat contumacious. He denied himself as a contentious person but he really did like to start protests.

Combeferre was quiet, soft-spoken, but fiercely loyal. He and Enjolras evened each other out. Combeferre practiced equanimity and had certainly mastered it because the teenager never grew angry easily. He also desired to be a medical student.

Grantaire was into art. _"Art is my heart!" _was his catchphrase. He was rather esoteric but he was very outgoing and bold. he often found pride in his facetious ways but everyone learned to go with it. He often portrayed himself as an indolent kind of student, despite his academic status.

Courfeyrac was confident, bold, outgoing, and a bit of a flirt. He was the center for he learned to handle and hold people's emotions whether that may be a good or bad thing. He was gregarious, very gregarious. He had no trouble displaying the most of him and did that with ease.

Jehan was even more soft spoken than Combeferre; he loved poetry, reading, writing, and flowers. He was slightly obsequious, despite hanging out with people who were completely opposite. He and Combeferre were both the ones to always mollify their friends from his wide understanding of emotions.

"I'm Feuilly and that's Joly," Feuilly said. He had a generous heart and a warming mind; he looked rather soft-spoken and reserved but he held confidence in his stance. Joly, who was talking to Combeferre about medicine, was a bit more worried about his hygiene than the average person.

"That's right," Enjolras said and fiddled with the bag's strap on his shoulder, "I'm Enjolras, by the way. We're in your health class."

Joly, who turned at the word 'health', nodded enthusiastically. He and Combeferre fell back into their conversations while Courfeyrac went over to sling his arm around Grantaire as they faced their newcomers.

"Hi, Enjolras," Feuilly said with a kind smile, "I've heard of you, too. You're a bit of an activist. And you're popular with just about everyone."

"That's because he's been hanging around us," Courfeyrac snorted and nudged Grantaire who grinned sloppily. "Isn't that right, R?"

Enjolras rolled his eyes and turned his back on his friends before addressing Feuilly again.

"Are those two...together?" Feuilly whispered, evidently only for Enjolras and Jehan to hear.

Courfeyrac had his arm slung over Grantaire's shoulders and the artist had Courfeyrac's headphone in one ear while the other was in his friend's. They were sitting close together, knees touching and everything. But once that question was uttered, Grantaire perked up and turned to look at Feuilly, who cast his gaze downward slightly.

"Did you hear that darling?" Grantaire chirped and nudged Courfeyrac in the knee. "Feuilly asked if we were together...as a couple."

"Really?" his friend said with a spark of amusement and curiosity. "Ah! We're caught!" He shared a kiss with Grantaire, who held up his hand to shield their faces.

"No," Enjolras said sincerely, "they're just messing with you. You might find that this group of friends are comfortable being touchy with each other."

"But it's okay, we're like a group of unwanted and outcast brothers," Jehan piped up.

"Except Apollo," Grantaire chimed in from where he was sitting, "he's far too up high on Mount Olympus to find any mortal good enough for him."

Enjolras waved him off with a hand and Grantaire and Courfeyrac grinned while Combeferre looked like he wanted to agree. And soon the group of seven became a group of nine.

* * *

><p>"Are you single?"<p>

"Hold your tongue."

"Do I denigrate you?"

Courfeyrac was standing beside a girl whom he had never met before. She was tan, had dark brown and black hair that may have once looked nicer. She wore ragged clothes but she had makeup on that belied Grantaire. Her name was Eponine and she was Marius's friend.

The group of nine introduced themselves to Marius. They all found Marius to be an easy-going with a light nature. Perhaps that is why they all got along so well. Grantaire, Courfeyrac, and Jehan recognized him immediately, after having a literal run-in with the student, they found it quite easy to be friends.

Marius had introduced them to someone else. Her name was Eponine. She did not attend high school in the lack of income of her family but she was still sharp and quick with wit. She had mitigated intellect.

"Do you have any idea what you want to major in?" Enjolras asked, trying not to sound cacophonous. He shoved his hands in his pockets and looked at her with unwanted surveying blue eyes.

"No," she snapped hastily, "not everyone has their life planned out. Welcome to reality but sometimes, plans don't go according to our desires."

"I know," Enjolras said heatedly, "I'm sorry if I offended you with a mere question. I'll bear in mind to not ask you anymore."

Enjolras walked away with an awkward stance that made Grantaire want to chide the girl; but Enjolras had made his way to Marius, who was standing with uneasiness in the back, as he watched his new friends mingle with his childhood friend.

"So where do you go to school?" Grantaire asked, replacing Enjolras and stood beside Courfeyrac, adjusting his jacket to hide the hip flask.

"Somewhere else," Eponine insisted and waved off the interrogation, but glared at him, "but who gave you the right to ask? I don't believe I was talking to you in the first place."

"My apologies. I had no idea that asking someone where they went to school was such an opprobrium question; I'll make sure to be more meticulous the next time I strike up a conversation with you," Grantaire said crossly, firing up at once. Courfeyrac put a hand on Grantaire's shoulder then turned to the girl.

"He was only wondering," he reasoned.

"I know," she said and shifted her position, "I refuse to sound boorish now but I don't go to school. My family's income simply prevents me from it."

Grantaire, who would have usually shown some kind of sympathy, merely grunted and sauntered over to Enjolras and Marius. He engrossed himself in their conversation which they included him gladly.

"Who's that feisty one, Eponine, right?" Grantaire muttered once he was sure she could not hear.

"Yes," Marius said and looked a little down, "she's had a tough life but she's pulling through. She's smart, really, but things are just holding her back. I'm sorry if she came off as an antipathetic towards you but she's really nice."

Grantaire said nothing but exchanged glances with Enjolras, who had been snapped by Eponine earlier for asking a similar question. But, before they knew it, their group of nine turned into a group of eleven.

* * *

><p>"I'm inert!" Grantaire cried and held up his hands. "Would you help a discredited soul like me?"<p>

"Grantaire!" Enjolras protested but did not hesitate to bring Grantaire to his feet after he purposely collapsed on the cement in front of his house. In fact, Grantaire and Enjolras lived in the same arrondissement.

They had just finished their geometry exam, it was their last exam for it was their last class. The summer's break was arriving and students were eager for their freedom. However, Grantaire, who did not want to return home, found a way to stall the time.

"Come over!" Grantaire pleaded. "Please! I don't want to be stuck with my parents—they despise me. If I have someone over, then I'll have a reason to avoid them."

Enjolras enjoyed Grantaire's company, despite his occasional callous words, and had actually grown quite fond of him over time. The sun was glaring at his face and he refused to remove his red jacket, he so desperately wanted to get out of the sun's grasp.

"Yeah, okay," Enjolras decided and smiled when Grantaire let out a breath of relief. He and Enjolras slipped into the house after a few minutes of key fumbling, and hurried to the air conditioned abode.

It was the complete opposite of what Enjolras had expected. Though they have been friends for a year and lived a block away, this was the first time he had actually entered Grantaire's house.

The two-story marble foyer was the most impressive feature of the home with a decent chandelier at the top. A large window was placed above the double glass doors. It opened up to the rest of the home and looked very welcoming.

Grantaire's room was the opposite of what Enjolras had expected. The room was large and consisted of three windows, the size of his walls, and one bare wall. He had a small closet on the bare wall. There was one desk and a bed and the rest was empty.

"What?" Grantaire asked, looking nervously around. "I-is there something in the room?"

Enjolras may have been over thinking his friend's words but _why did he refer to his room as 'the room' and not 'my room'_? But he shrugged it off when Grantaire sat himself on the bed and motioned for Enjolras to join him.

The two friends were at ease with one another. Eventually, Jehan, Courfeyrac, and Combeferre came over due to their availability. The group of five were all in Grantaire's room, talking, singing, and doing whatever else came to mind.

"I can't believe Marius got to go to Argentina," Courfeyrac grumbled after pushing his sleeves to his elbows, "he didn't even want to go. He said he hated flying and preferred to be here—not that there is anything wrong with France."

"I know what you mean," Grantaire muttered and emulated Courfeyrac, glad to push the heating sleeves off his arms. "Oh, wait. We might have something here." He framed Jehan with his fingers and grinned.

"What?" Jehan asked, catching Grantaire's joke.

"A poet in work," the cynic said and flashed him another amused grin. Enjolras was not listening anymore for something else had caught his eye. It was what was on Grantaire's forearms that made him pause. There were marks on his wrists that sparked Enjolras's curiosity but he held his tongue and kept silent.

"Can we hear what you've written?" Combeferre asked, leaning towards Jehan with interest.

"I don't mind," Jehan said and handed his notebook to Combeferre, "read it out loud if you want. It's just a few beginning lines but I thought it might be something worth continuing."

"With a crown above my head and a badge upon my breast, the propensity of pure intentions are all well said. The people reverent a good man, who wears his intransigence as a crest..."

"I love it," Grantaire and Courfeyrac said together.

"That's deep," Enjolras said and ran his tongue over his lips, "how can you write so well?"

Jehan, who was blushing furiously, shrugged. "I...I just write. It's not done, I haven't gotten around to finishing it so that's why I'm trying to, now. The wording needs to be altered, I know."

"We think it's perfect," Enjolras said and looked at the ceiling, "it's amazing how you can just come up with this and write it down to perfection. It's rather admirable."

"Take that, Jehan," Grantaire said with a grin, "even Apollo loves it—you have managed to impress a Greek god."

"R, I'm not a Greek god," Enjolras said exasperatedly but Grantaire waved him off with a hand. Enjolras hated to admit it, but his group of friends had a way of making him feel...real.

* * *

><p>"Can I ask you something?" Enjolras asked.<p>

"Depends on the question," Grantaire muttered.

"Were you into self-harm?"

That question made Grantaire stop in his tracks and look over his shoulder. He was walking at a fairly quick pace as soon as Enjolras had asked; he unconsciously pulled down his sleeve with a slight scowl, but he was not angry.

"Such an interesting inquiry, Apollo," Grantaire said and raised his eyebrow. "Why do you ask?"

Enjolras did not answer; instead, he walked over to Grantaire, turned to face him, and seized his wrist. He pushed back the sleeve (ignoring Grantaire's protests) and revealed the old scars that seared the wrist he held.

"That's peculiar—I don't remember where those came from," Grantaire lied, doing his best to sound nonchalant.

"When was the last time?" Enjolras asked, not looking at him.

"Sorry?"

"When was the last time?" Enjolras repeated, now looking at him.

Grantaire frowned slightly as he tried to tug his wrist back. "At the end of eighth grade. It was not recent. I've stopped a while ago. now that I have made it to high school—well, I think things got a bit better. I met new friends, too. I think this life had become a load more bearable."

Grantaire looked at Enjolras, whose tongue ran across his lips; Grantaire found it soothing to stare back into those pulchritudinous blue eyes as they seemed to capture just about every emotion.

"Have you?" Grantaire returned the question after a short pause. "What? It's not okay if I ask you that question? Are you afraid that Dionysus might have punctured a wound in Apollo's breathtaking perfection?"

"I enjoy your little Greek mythological phrases," Enjolras said with a slight smile.

"You didn't answer me," Grantaire said stubbornly; he, too, was an intransigent person. And when Enjolras did not answer, his eyes widened. "What? Have I found a crack in the marble statue?"

Enjolras looked at him with a raised eyebrow, about to retort.

"Relax, Enjolras," Grantaire said with a wave of his hand, "but if you got to see mine then I get to see yours."

Enjolras ran a tongue over his lips as Grantaire fixed him down with a blazing look and pulled back his sleeve. He did not look down with Grantaire for he knew his wrist was marked by one scar but it was long and vivid against his skin.

"When did you do this?" Grantaire asked, letting go of his wrist and turning his gaze back on him.

"About a year ago," Enjolras replied in a unheard and rarely used soft tone.

"Yeah? No more—no more of this. We have each other now and as long as we've got that, I think we've pretty much got everything," Grantaire said in a flurry. He flashed a grin at Enjolras who could not help but return for he was right—he had his friends so he really did have everything.

* * *

><p>"Courf, for the last time, I'm not dying my hair," Combeferre protested once Courfeyrac brought it back up into their conversation.<p>

"Why not?" he asked, drawing the question out in a lazy tone. "You'd look rather desirable with brown hair like mine."

"I like my hair the way it is," Combeferre said and looked at Courfeyrac through his glasses, "not that I have anything against brunettes; I really would prefer my hair to remain as it is."

"You're no fun," Courfeyrac argued, folding his arms across his chest and looking, for once but failing dismally, serious. Combeferre sat back on the bed and groaned, throwing his head back to look at the ceiling in an exasperated way.

"I know you really are just trying to annoy me," Combeferre said with a raised eyebrow, "you don't care what color my hair is as long as you can pester me about something. I know you, Courfeyrac. I wasn't born yesterday."

"You're good," Courfeyrac admitted but he grinned all the same, "but that's not the entire truth."

"Then what is?" Combeferre asked, turning his blue gaze on to his friend.

"I think—"

"—Courfeyrac? Your father is here to pick you up."

Combeferre's mother had knocked softly on the door; her voice carried through to their ears. Courfeyrac looked slightly amused and slightly frustrated but he collected his things and with a swift thank you and a goodbye, he evacuated the house.

Combeferre sighed with frustration as their very interesting conversation was interrupted at the most inconvenient time. But instead, he looked at his phone and replied to the group messages from Grantaire, Enjolras, Jehan, Feuilly, and Joly. He smiled slightly to himself at the names their friends had come up with for each other.

**Enjolras the Elegant (15:11):** Did R leave his notebook at your house because he won't shut up about it. And do you have my jacket? The blue one?

**GrantaiRe the Great (15:11):** For the record, it was not a notebook but a sketchbook. And secondly, I actually have a few things in there that I need. It has my key in the rings of it and I kind of need those to get inside.

**Feuilly the Fanman (15:12): **No, R. Those keys are at my place. But I think Jehan has my jacket at his place.

**Jehan Prouvaire the Poet (15:13): **I have Enjolras's jacket on the back of my chair right now. I'm actually staring at it. And I think you left your jacket at R's place the other day.

**GrantaiRe the Great (15:14):** Oh sorry, that's right. It's right here.

**Joly the Jubilant (15:15): **Someone has their shoes at my place—black converse.

**Jehan Prouvaire the Poet (15:16): **Those are mine! I've been missing those for a while. I've been having to wear gray ones.

**Combeferre the Calm (15:17):** What was the point of adding me to the conversation?

**Enjolras the Elegant (15:17):** I could ask the same.

As he climbed into the car, he was squirming uncomfortably. His father's greeting was short and curt but Courfeyrac was used to it for he really was never going to find the courage to bring that back up again. In fact, he may have been on a slight sugar rush then; perhaps, he would have to wait until he was intoxicated with alcohol to tell him again. But he sighed, nevertheless, and leaned back in the car seat, enjoying the silence.


	3. Nearly there Juniors

**All rights remain. Sorry for the lack of plot. I cannot write anything with a plot.**

"Come on, Marius. We're all growing old!" Feuilly said.

"Just give it to her and run away—okay, I'm joking. Don't do that," Grantaire added.

"Marius—you're a sixteen year old junior at high school. You're going to do it," Courfeyrac said and shoved Marius hard.

The teenager stumbled slightly, nearly dropping the item in his hand. He looked over his shoulder helplessly but the group merely shook their heads. Joly, Feuilly, Jehan, Courfeyrac, Enjolras, Combeferre, and Grantaire were all waiting in the background for Marius to take approximately eleven more steps to his obsession.

It was a girl by the name of Cosette. She had pulchritudinous blonde hair that seemed smoother and softer than silk and blue eyes deeper than the trench of the ocean. But her voice was richer than vanilla. She was simply a offspring of Aphrodite.

Cosette was engaged in a conversation with someone else. He was a burly teenager with a sort of powerful aura, nothing like Enjolras (who could move anyone into fear with a single glare), but he was often with bad company.

"I can't do it," Marius said and slumped his shoulders, "he intimidates me."

"Bahorel intimidates everyone," Grantaire said dismissively, "but he's actually a very nice guy."

But Marius looked doubtful and opened his mouth to protest but his voice was drowned out by the loud groans from the rest of his friends. This made him glare at them, turn red, and smile all at the same time.

"We're going to be seniors by the time you talk to her! Oi, Bahorel!" Grantaire said and waved him down.

Bahorel excused himself from the girl he was conversing with and hurried over to Grantaire's side. He turned to Marius and beamed; this took Marius by complete surprise as he stumbled for words.

"Marius Pontmercy—I know who you are, of course," Bahorel said, then his eyes fell to the item in Marius's hands, "give it to her—she's all yours and next time you want to talk to her while I am, just shove me out of the way or something."

Marius was now even more confused as he looked at Grantaire for help. Grantaire's blue eyes turned to Marius then to Bahorel then back to Marius. Wordlessly, he shoved Marius towards the girl and turned into a conversation with Bahorel as the two sunk back into the group, who seemed to have taken a strong liking to Bahorel.

The girl looked up as Marius just stood there.

"Oui?" she asked, standing up and looking at him.

"Er—" Marius paused then bit his lip, "—here." He shoved something unceremoniously into her hands and hurried back to his friends who let out another collective groan.

Their group expanded for two more; Bahorel, their most recent newcomer and Bossuet, the second newest. They had met Bossuet through Bahorel but they have really accepted him a few days earlier and was glad to have a high spirited and laughing friend. Their little group of friends were becoming stronger yet.

"Come on, Marius," Combeferre said kindly, "that's, forgive my veracity, was the worst way to give someone a Valentine's card."

"I know," Marius mumbled but shrugged, "I guess Bossuet's bad luck is rubbing off on me."

"Perhaps," Bossuet replied with a laugh.

Marius was about to say something when someone had tapped him on the shoulder. He whirled around and found himself stuttering as Cosette had come over to talk to him. She did not bother to talk to him alone but merely faced the entire group of guys.

"Thanks, Marius. This was very kind—you are creative with words. I am touched that you would give me this," Cosette said and gave a smile, "well, thank you again and I'll see you around, then."

Marius was lost for words as Cosette tucked the card into her messenger bag and walked off campus with a little flounce to her step.

"What do you think, Apollo? Does Aphrodite's daughter good enough for you?" Grantaire joked as he leaned towards the unofficially elected leader of their group.

"Don't be ridiculous, R," Enjolras snorted but flashed Grantaire a grin, "she's pretty and all but absolutely not. She is certainly Marius's and let it remain that way."

The rest of the group cachinnated but Marius was completely oblivious to all of this for his eyes were trailing the flouncing girl until she disappeared out of sight. And when she did, Marius was still staring intently in that direction.

* * *

><p>"Oh!"<p>

Jehan had leaped to his feet, along with Joly and Combeferre; Courfeyrac was busy laughing, Feuilly was trying to shut Courfeyrac up, and Marius had leaned forward in concern. Enjolras merely folded his arms across his chest in a gesture that said 'I told you so'.

Bahorel and Grantaire were stage fighting for fun—they all camped out in the school's theatre in the month of March. There was no occasion, Courfeyrac had come up with the idea after he and Grantaire were exploring it and there was a little room with a small stage, chairs, and windows that was not under a camera.

But Bahorel, who intended to miss Grantaire's face while throwing the blow, had actually made contact with his jaw. This brought Grantaire straight down in a dazed but laughing heap.

"Are you okay?" Jehan asked, stooping down beside Grantaire.

"I'm all right," Grantaire said and gingerly touched his jaw, "I barely felt a thing." It was true and despite the thud it brought, he really did not feel much—but he knew in a few minutes it would be throbbing.

Joly was bending over and running his hand along Grantaire's jaw, surveying him with a piercing gaze.

"Well Doctor Joly?" Grantaire asked, flicking his eyebrows.

"Swelling and irritation," Joly said after a short pause, "try to keep the talking to a minimum and give that jaw a rest."

"Like that's going to happen," Enjolras snorted but Grantaire flashed him a charming grin that would make anyone give up their angry stance, just not Enjolras who merely quirked an elegant eyebrow.

"I had miscalculations," Bahorel said sheepishly and bent over to examine his friend, "you are okay, are you? Do you want to get some ice? Or water? Or both?"

"Relax," Grantaire said with a laugh, "I'm fine, really. It was fast so I didn't feel the blow."

"You will," Bahorel said but smiled, "if you need any of those things, I'll go and get it."

Grantaire flexed his wrist and stood up, insisting that he was fine and that they needed to continue the party. Courfeyrac started playing Twist and Shout from The Beatles, which got everyone up and dancing along (with the exception of Enjolras and Combeferre).

Courfeyrac and Grantaire, who were jumping up and down together, finally came to a stop as the music melted into a new song. They both exchanged glances with one another as they looked at Combeferre and Enjolras.

"Operation getting Apollo and 'Ferre to dance?" Grantaire asked, raising an eyebrow at Courfeyrac who gave him a grin and a nod. They split up, one dragging Combeferre away and the other taking his place. Grantaire nudged Enjolras with a grin on his face.

"What were you two conniving?" Enjolras asked in an exasperated tone.

"Nothing," Grantaire said and looked at his hands, folded in his lap. "Why aren't you dancing?"

"Do I honestly look like someone who dances?" Enjolras asked, gesturing to his entire self, but his voice was a tone softer when he spoke.

"Yes," Grantaire said as if it was the most obvious thing in the world, "every girl would be longing to climb on you if you danced—you're Apollo. You're extremely alluring and I'm sure you'd be even more if you'd dance."

Enjolras, who was usually irascible, smiled. "Perhaps I'm an exception."

Grantaire grunted and leaned back in the chair, crossing his legs by the ankles.

"But really, are you okay? That blow did not sound too appealing," Enjolras said and peered closer as his fingers brushed the bruising jawline of Grantaire, "it's turning blue now."

"I'm perfectly—fine," Grantaire said, hoping the vacillation in his voice went unnoticed. He shivered under the fingers of Enjolras but he cleared his throat instead, hoping he could cherish the moment for he knew it would not come again.

But Grantaire never asked for water that night. In fact, he was rather intoxicated, but not on alcohol. Enjolras cared—he asked him if he was okay; the discomfort in his jaw went away once the presence of Enjolras's fingers were there.

Meanwhile, Courfeyrac was dancing and hopping around Combeferre, who was standing upright and with his arms folded over his chest. Courfeyrac bounced on his shoulders and jumped, unexpectedly, on his back.

"Oi! Courfeyrac!" Combeferre protested when he nearly toppled over.

"Ah, but you know you love me, 'Ferre!" Courfeyrac cooed in a singsong voice. Little did he know that Combeferre was blushing furiously and trying to hide his face by looking downward. Everyone, but Courfeyrac, caught this scene in action.

* * *

><p>Courfeyrac was camping out at Grantaire's home for the weekend; they had been planning to do something a bit reckless but it only sparked them with energy as they lay wide awake in Grantaire's room.<p>

They were enjoying moments of talking, talking about whatever crossed their minds; and whether their words were deep and personal or light-hearted and happy, their conversation carried well into the night.

But now they were outside after sneaking out Grantaire's window with a rope; they were wandering the streets in the dead of night—but the air was pleasantly cool and comfortable and this was something Courfeyrac and Grantaire did often whenever they were sleeping over.

"You sure your parents don't care?" Courfeyrac asked.

"Since when did they ever? This is our eighteenth time sneaking out and them finding out in the morning that we are gone," Grantaire said, "they never cared as long as we came back the next night."

Grantaire wrapped himself in his father's black duffle coat, he purposely wore black shoes and pants to blend into the night, although he was too lazy to change out of his white shirt.

Courfeyrac had insisted that he stayed in his blue pants and refused to remove his red cardigan over his white shirt. In Grantaire's opinion, he looked like the French flag (Enjolras would like that).

"So, do you know the way to his house?" Courfeyrac asked, looking at his watch.

"Of course—he lives a block away," Grantaire with a slight chuckle.

They had been planning this all night. Courfeyrac was heading over to Combeferre's house (who happened to live two blocks south of Grantaire) and Grantaire was making his way to Enjolras's house (who dwelt a block north).

"I'm okay walking to 'Ferre's; this is an upscale neighborhood. I'm not going to be ambushed," Courfeyrac joked and flashed his friend a sideways glance.

"I don't care," Grantaire insisted, "I'm walking with you to 'Ferre's then I'll double back and head to Enjolras's. It's not a big deal."

The rest of the way, they talked about their favorite movies. The conversation took them to the next two blocks until Courfeyrac paused in front of a smaller brick home with a single light on. It was Combeferre's room light on the second floor.

Grantaire handed him a small stone and picked up a decent sized pebble for himself and chucked it hard at the window. It made a slight echoing noise after it hit its mark and landed in the grass with a soft thud.

The window slid open and a face appeared downward. Combeferre was peering through the darkness until Courfeyrac and Grantaire beamed their phone lights upward and flashed them on and off to serve as a signal. Courfeyrac's phone buzzed as he received a text.

**Combeferre the Calm (00:33): **What are you doing at my house in my driveway with R?

**Courfeyrac the Charmer (00:33): **I want to see you. Use the rope R gave you last year and throw it down and hold it.

**Combeferre the Calm (00:34): **You're insane but fine.

There was a slight pause of silence until something had fallen soundlessly; Grantaire had purposely purchased each friend a hundred foot rope for Bastille Day last year for he knew those ropes would serve their purpose sooner than later.

Courfeyrac grabbed the rope first and planted his foot on the side of the house. They were lucky the house was brick for the last time they tried this (on Joly's house which was wood) they spent thirty minutes trying to get one person up.

The two climbed up the side of the house with ease as their feet stuck easily to the brick wall. After ten minutes of climbing (and pausing for breaks) they clambered into Combeferre's window. The blonde was thoroughly shocked when Courfeyrac and Grantaire hauled themselves through his window.

"What are you doing here?" Combeferre hissed in a low voice. "Do you realize how hard this is to grasp that I have to friends in my room that just climbed through my window?"

"You are not usually garrulous," Courfeyrac joked, "don't be such a misanthrope and lighten up. We just climbed through your bloody window to see you."

Combeferre flushed that could be seen through the darkness. Grantaire smirked but pulled out his phone with a impassive expression. Combeferre pointed in confusion and Courfeyrac grinned.

"Thank you kindly for your magnanimity but I must depart," Grantaire said with a smile and swooped over to give the two deriding kisses on the cheeks. "Courf—hold the rope, will you?"

Courfeyrac seized the rope and held it in place as Grantaire hauled his slender self through the window and held on to the rope as he lowered himself back down. There was a sharp tug on the rope that indicated that he had made it down.

Courfeyrac started coiling the rope around his arm; meanwhile, Combeferre was back on his bed, still in his day clothes, but unable to wrap his head around the idea of someone climbing through his window in the middle of the night.

"What are you doing here?" Combeferre repeated.

Courfeyrac plopped himself right beside Combeferre. "Visiting you, of course. Why wouldn't I?"

"No one said you couldn't, I just wasn't expecting you to," he replied with a flick of his eyebrows. Courfeyrac felt his heart aflutter as he stole a sideways glance at Combeferre. It was peculiar because he was so unsure of whether this was a ephemeral romantic feeling or just a brotherly feeling.

Combeferre, on the other hand, was a bit too shocked to think of anything of the sort. Instead, as soon as Courfeyrac shifted his position, he shot to his feet and strode over to his desk, taking the laptop and plugging it back in near his bed.

"Do you want to watch a movie?" Combeferre asked, uneasily seating himself to the right of Courfeyrac.

"I'd love to!" he said and beamed. "What do you want to watch?"

"Anything," Combeferre said.

"Then a horror movie?" Courfeyrac asked with a grin, "I haven't watch one in ages and would love to. I can see you have a small but good collection of them—can we?"

When Combeferre shrugged, Courfeyrac leaped to his feet and pulled out one of the disks. The two lay on their stomachs and propped the laptop on the head of the bed. Combeferre, meanwhile, grabbed sodas from the kitchen (sneakily of course) and chips. The two situated themselves and cued the movie, laying a bit closer than necessary for they had plenty of room on the bed.

"Oh—" Courfeyrac muttered and nonchalantly turned away. The endings of the horror films were always the worst. Combeferre had watched Courfeyrac mutter out little things and turn away.

When the movie ended Combeferre shut off his laptop but left the lamp on, emitting a faint glow of light that seemed to illuminate their faces. Courfeyrac know knew what his feelings were exactly and he felt giddy and nervous. Tonight may have been the best night to tell Combeferre but to Courfeyrac, it was just not the night.

He got up with a hasty thank you and started towards the window, holding out the rope. But Combeferre did not take it, instead, he walked over to Courfeyrac and pulled him into a hug.

Courfeyrac was shaking, but he was unsure if it was just because of the aftermath of the movie. But he took no hesitation into returning it with equal enthusiasm. Perhaps it _was _the night.

"Sleep over," Combeferre insisted, "I don't want to be in here alone anymore and I certainly don't want _you _to be outside on your own. Where would you go, anyway?"

"True," Courfeyrac said with a smile then broke out into a huge grin, "thanks, 'Ferre. This is why I love you." He hoped that his words would get across and felt his heart jerk uneasily when Combeferre gave him a smile. They huddled in the middle of the bed.

"Why are we fighting for the middle of the bed?" Combeferre asked, suddenly aware that his face was steaming with fervor.

"I'm afraid of the monsters under the bed," Courfeyrac replied with a teasing smile.

The silence lasted longer than they had expected (nearly a whole minute) which allowed Combeferre a sort of mental comfort as he was soothed by his friend's presence. He closed his eyes until he found something burning up his throat and he knew he could not wait to ask.

"Courf?"

"Hm?"

"Thanks for coming over."

"Of course, mon ami."

There was a small pause that made Courfeyrac open his eyes.

"And Courf?"

"Hm?"

"This is why I love you, too."

Unsure of what those words meant, Courfeyrac was about to open his mouth and ask but the sound of Combeferre's slowing breathing made him realize that Combeferre was falling asleep. With a chuckle, Courfeyrac turned over but the two were pressed closer to each other in the middle of the bed in fear of the "monsters under the bed".

**&.&.&.&.&**

Grantaire pulled out his phone and scrolled through the messages with a little smile on his face.

**Enjolras the Elegant (00:58):** Apprise me, will you?

**GrantaiRe the Great (00:59): **I have a surprise for you. You are home, right?

**Enjolras the Elegant (00:59):** Yes, where else would I be at midnight? What is the surprise? If you're going to send me endless pictures of whatever you are doing, you can just tell me. I don't need visuals.

**GrantaiRe the Great (00:59):** I am not going to be sending you any pictures, I promise. Don't pretend you don't like them, Apollo. ;)

**Enjolras the Elegant (01:00):** I'm not pretending.

Grantaire chuckled as he stopped right in front of the house he wanted to be. He found a three pebbles and threw them all at once at the window with the light on. They echoed louder than Combeferre's window.

He threw two more pebbles at the window, one after the other, until the window swung open. It was a much larger window (which Grantaire was grateful for); he watched with a hammering heart as Enjolras looked out his window and around. He flashed his phone light then typed a message.

**GrantaiRe the Great (01:03):** Do you still have the rope I gave you last year?

**Enjolras the Elegant (01:03):** Yes?

**GrantaiRe the Great (01:04):** Send it down.

**Enjolras the Elegant (01:05):** ARE YOU AT MY WINDOW?

Grantaire grasped the rope that fell from the window and started climbing up. Enjolras's home was also brick, which made it easy for Grantaire to climb up. His arms were actually growing tired and he climbed.

Staggering at the window sill, he grasped with his right arm and paused there. Enjolras reached out and seized Grantaire by the wrist and hauled him the rest of the way; Grantaire was surprisingly light as Enjolras half carried him through the window.

He lost his footing and fell with a thud against the wooden floor. But as soon as he hit the floor, Grantaire leaped to his feet and positively beamed while Enjolras righted himself and straightened his day clothes.

"Surprise," Grantaire said breathlessly and smiled, "are you surprised?"

"Oh, not at all," Enjolras said, his voice dripped with obvious sarcasm, "what are you doing here?"

"I was around and decided to drop in for a visit," Grantaire said and shoved his hands in his coat, "it's good to see you even though I just saw you a few days ago."

"Oh my..." Enjolras said then looked around, "you are lucky my parents are out for the night. They'll be back in the morning and will wonder what you are doing here."

"What time are they coming back?" Grantaire asked in a drawling, lazy voice.

"Around nine maybe," Enjolras said, his lips twitched, "I suppose you can just say you came this morning. By the way, I like your coat."

Enjolras straightened out his buttoned shirt and sat back down on his bed—his laptop was on that was on Word Document; it looked like he had written a twelve page speech about something. He quickly minimized it and smiled warmly as Grantaire looked around.

"Here," he said and returned to his feet, helping Grantaire with his jacket that made the cynic flush. The coat was slung against the dashboard of the bed and he went to close the window.

"Were you working on something?" Grantaire asked.

"Just something for history," Enjolras replied hastily and sat down on the bed, "sit down, I can't imagine that climbing the side of my house was too pleasurable."

Grantaire flicked his eyebrows but he seated himself next to Enjolras and tucked his legs on the bed and close to him. Enjolras moved the laptop and emulated Grantaire, then turned to face him.

"Now that you're here," he said and pursed his lips, "what do you want to do? We can watch a movie if you desire. I stored some food up here because I'm usually working late and crave food during the night." He gestured over the side of his bed then bent down to grab a remote (which was a Wii remote) and pulled up Netflix.

Grantaire looked over to see the variation of food that lay in a neat pile beside his bed. He shifted his position, trying to appease the crazy feeling bubbling in his chest, erupting his senses and causing him to go into an unwanted, dark, blissful, oblivious state of mind.

"Sure, what movie?" Grantaire asked.

"Horror?" Enjolras asked, motioning to the television screen that had Netflix pulled up. "I haven't seen a horror movie in ages and would love to watch one. I rarely go on Netflix and when I do, it's usually for documentaries."

Indeed, Enjolras's history was all historical documentaries of the world. Grantaire's Netflix history contained of a load of television shows from the history channel; he had grown particularly fond of House and Marco Polo.

"I'd never deny a horror movie," Grantaire said and simply _beamed _inwardly when Enjolras gave him one of his genuine rare smiles. He lay on his stomach at the foot of his bed and chose one at random. He and Grantaire brought over all the food and scattered it about Enjolras's bed.

"I imagined that you would hate eating in bed," Grantaire teased.

Enjolras turned red but smiled. "I eat in bed all the time."

"And this is why I love you, Apollo," Grantaire said and flashed his golden haired friend a charming smile before averting his attention to the screen. Eating food and drinking lemonade with Enjolras was way better than drinking red wine on the streets alone. He could not have been more happy or content then right then.

It was not until the movie became increasingly more gory and Grantaire was, surprisingly, having a harder time watching. Enjolras, who seemed to have been finding it increasingly difficult, as well, would sometimes cast his gaze downward when a particularly gory scene played.

There was a time when the protagonist was being shot with arrows that made Grantaire look away with a strangled and hoarse cry. Enjolras looked sideways in surprise to find Grantaire with his head bowed and the glass clutched in his hand.

When the movie finally ceased to an end, Grantaire was staring avidly at the pink lemonade in his hands. Enjolras started playing Marco Polo (for he knew it was Grantaire's favorite show at the moment) and let it run as background noise; he sat up and blinked at Grantaire.

"Thanks, Apollo," Grantaire said quietly then cleared his throat, praying that his voice would come out stronger, "I won't stay if you don't want me, too. This was kind of a spur of the moment kind of thing and I bet you weren't expecting company. Thanks for the time, though. That was fun."

He made to get up to grab his coat but Enjolras leaped to his feet and seized Grantaire by the wrist and hauled him back down. "No, you're staying overnight. I don't want you going out there alone and I don't want to be alone."

Grantaire simply radiated. "If you insist, my Apollo."

Enjolras threw back the covers of the bed and he and Grantaire slid under them, day clothes on and all. The two lay there, watching the television show play but Grantaire was not really paying attention. Enjolras, however, seemed rather engrossed until Grantaire nudged him in the ribs.

"Hm?"

"You make climbing up the sides of homes worth it," Grantaire said and folded his legs, "you're worthy, Apollo. Don't forget that. Okay?"

Enjolras felt his face grow warm as he nervously tugged at his sleeves.

"No more self-harm or doing anything stupid like that, eh?" Grantaire asked with a raised eyebrow. "I quit in eighth grade but I know the most recent one happened at the beginning of this year."

"How?" he asked hoarsely.

Grantaire puled up Enjolras's sleeve. Instead of words, he brushed his lips over the scar for a lingering moment before pulling back. "No more, okay? Can you promise me that?"

"For you," Enjolras breathed, "and for my friends."

Grantaire smiled, apparently happy with that answer, and leaned back again, looking at the ceiling; he did not permit himself to sleep until he knew Enjolras was. He waited for his friend's breathing to become more slow and even until he allowed himself to close his eyes to a very content slumber.


	4. Finally there Seniors

**All rights remain. And anyone who saw the movie Spirit (the horse movie) would recognize the lyrics to the songs. I do like music, I just never appreciated it enough so I thought I might give it a try.**

* * *

><p>Marius, Cosette, Eponine, Enjolras, Combeferre, Jehan, Courfeyrac, Feuilly, Joly, Bossuet, Grantaire, and Bahorel were all standing in a ragged circle. Most seniors were crying upon each other's shoulders, devastated to be leaving their friends behind, but that's where the discrepancy of them and this group of friends. They were all attending the same college (with the exception of Eponine, who had found a job at a pub and cafe near their campus), so—<p>

"It's not goodbye after all," Jehan said happily, "I'll see you all in two months."

"Two months of vacation hardly seems like a vacation," Grantaire muttered, "and I hate having to wear this suit and tie. It's warm out and this tie is making my neck uncomfortable."

It was a sight to behold for all the males were required to wear a suit and tie. Jehan, Courfeyrac, and Grantaire had normal black suits on but instead, they wore faint blue undershirts with white ties; they made it a plan to look different from the others.

And, to an extent to what they said, it was true. The three had worked enough jobs to be able to pool their money together into getting an flat their freshman year of college since the college did not offer dormitories where their buildings were placed. Veraciously, some colleges did not have a central campus and often had buildings scattered about a small city.

Everyone had plans to rent apartments and bunk together. They have been finding jobs and saving money for it since they could first find a job. Grantaire knew for sure Enjolras, Combeferre, and Marius were already planning to bunk together.

"Don't miss me too much," Courfeyrac said with a wink.

The others groaned in response but Courfeyrac waved them off dismissively with an impatient hand.

"That's got to be the worst thing I heard," Jehan joked and flashed his friend a grin before he plucked a flower from the nearby bush. No one found it weird that Jehan liked flowers or poetry. Grantaire pulled out his hip flask that was filled with whiskey.

"Must you?" Enjolras asked in an exasperated tone.

"Must I what?" Grantaire choked out after his throat jumped from the alcohol.

"Drink? At graduation?" Enjolras asked with a slight twinge of agitation.

"Relax, Apollo. This is the fir–st drink I've had in days," Grantaire said while the others laughed in the background when his throat jumped again.

"And we haven't had any at all," Enjolras said stubbornly and folded his arms across his chest.

"I have," Bahorel, Feuilly, Bossuet, and Courfeyrac said together. They all looked at each other with identical wicked grins.

"Well, most of us," Enjolras corrected himself and dug his hands in his dress pants's pockets and looked at his shoes.

Grantaire was shrugging off the suit's jacket and slung it over his arm. At that precise time, his parents were striding over to him and he felt his face grow warm. And it was not from the sun.

"Congratulations—if you are not coming home right now then I hope you have your key because your father and I were called away," his mother said brusquely and pursed her lips, "there is dinner already made and if there is nothing appealing then make yourself something or go out to eat."

"Th–anks," Grantaire muttered and unconsciously rubbed his sore chest.

His parents walked out together without another word. The tension had been crushing until Grantaire straightened out and gave them a reassuring smile.

"It's warm so we sh–ould get out of the sun," Grantaire said and looked at each of his friends in turn.

"I'm glad to hear. I know Vitamin D is important and all but I don't want to get more ultraviolet lights than I need in risk of other illnesses I can catch. That goes for the rest of you, too," Joly said in a flurry and started walking off campus.

"Part of me wants to say goodbye to this place and the other half of me wants to spit on the grounds," Courfeyrac said once he, Grantaire, and Jehan fell in step together.

Enjolras and Combeferre were talking in hushed tones and Grantaire swore he saw Enjolras flash Combeferre a watery smile.

"I know what you mean," Jehan said and looked over his shoulder, "I dunno if I am glad to be walking away because I am excited for my life to actually start but I am also sad because we went through do much, especially here."

"But you said that no far–ewell is needed," Grantaire said as he looked softly at Jehan, "there is no need f–or farewells."

Jehan and Courfeyrac smiled back with genuine smiles that took some effort to get out but once Grantaire had spoken those words, they had instantly felt better.

"I don't want you thinking that this is just another ending," Grantaire said in a stronger voice, "I want this to be like a man who is free from his bonds."

"Monsieur?"

The entire group turned around to see who was addressing one of them. It was Jehan's parents with a camera. The group had taken a particularly strong liking to Jehan's mother and father. They venerated them.

"Pictures!" Bahorel shouted and beamed. "Who doesn't like getting their pictures taken?"

"I can think of a few," Feuilly said with a grin, "but for you my favorite mother and father that I never had."

The group began a formation as they all linked arms around shoulders and waists alternatively and smiled at the camera as it flashed a few times.

Courfeyrac, whose arm was resting on Grantaire's shoulder, nudged him with a hand in a sort of reassuring way. Grantaire could only tighten his grip around Courfeyrac's waist in response. When the formation broke apart, they turned to face one another.

Without another word, they all enclosed each other in one big hug. Their ragged circle remained closed. They let Enjolras talk for he was their speech man.

"No tears," Enjolras said with a smile, "this is only another school year that has come and gone. And we will wait for the next one to begin. But we will see each other in two month's time and by then, we are going to be so much of each other..."

Enjolras actually broke off and bowed his head, his golden hair falling in his eyes as he tried to speak the last part. He laughed weakly when tears began to fall from his blazing blue eyes.

"Hey Apollo," Grantaire teased gently, taking one arm around Enjolras's waist and holding it there, "no tears."

But Enjolras was not the only one moved to tears. Once they saw their leader break down, they felt tears pooling in their own eyes that spilled over, even Grantaire found this occurring to him. He moved his arm back to wipe his eyes.

Enjolras hummed in response and allowed Combeferre to tug him into an embrace. Brothers through the flesh but blood, that's what Combeferre and Enjolras were. But Grantaire was the same with Courfeyrac and Jehan. They all had grown so close to each other, however, they were all inseparable.

"You're killing me, E," Marius joked as he wiped frantically at his eyes.

* * *

><p>Grantaire had his guitar out and strumming along to Bryan Adams. The entire group was sitting beside the lake, in the sand, with towels and sandwiches and sodas. They were sitting together in a close and ragged circle.<p>

_Here I am, this is me_  
><em>There's nowhere else on Earth I'd rather be<em>  
><em>Here I am, it's just me and you<em>  
><em>Tonight we make our dreams come true<em>

The rest of the group now had their eyes on Grantaire as he sang beautifully to the song, his head was tipped to the sky as if he was singing to a particular unseen person. He flashed them all a smile.

_It's a new world, it's a new start_  
><em>It's alive with the beating of young hearts<em>  
><em>It's a new day, it's a new plan<em>  
><em>I've been waiting for you<br>_

_Here I am  
><em>_Here I am_

Jehan and Courfeyrac immediately joined in for they loved this song; as children they would always sing to Bryan Adams. Grantaire's eyes brimmed with were powerful emotions that nearly took his voice away.

_Here we are, we've just begun_  
><em>And after all this time, our time has come<em>  
><em>Yeah, here we are, still going strong<em>  
><em>Right here in the place where we belong<em>

_It's a new world, it's a new start_  
><em>It's alive with the beating of young hearts<em>  
><em>It's a new day, it's a new plan<em>  
><em>I've been waiting for you<em>

_Here I am_  
><em>Yeah, here I am<em>  
><em>Here I am<em>  
><em>Yeah<em>  
><em>Waiting for you<em>

Bahorel and Feuilly started singing. They happened to know the song as well. And before long, everyone was singing to it. Grantaire continued to strum the guitar and Courfeyrac was snapping to the rhythm.

_Here I am, this is me_  
><em>There's no where else on earth I'd rather be<em>  
><em>Here I am, it's just me and you<em>  
><em>And tonight we make our dreams come true<em>

_Oh, it's a new world, it's a new start_  
><em>It's alive with the beating of young hearts<em>  
><em>It's a new day, it's a new plan<em>  
><em>I've been waiting for you<em>

Eyes started to water with unwanted tears but no one could help when they let a few escape. They had caught the attention of a few wanderers on the beach but their group was enclosed.

_Oh, it's a new world, it's a new start_  
><em>It's alive with the beating of young hearts<em>  
><em>It's a new day, it's a new plan<em>  
><em>I've been waiting for you<em>

_Here I am_  
><em>Here I am<em>

_Here I am, next to you_  
><em>And suddenly the world is all brand new<em>  
><em>Here I am, here I am, where I'm gonna stay<em>  
><em>Now there's nothing standing in our way<em>

_Oh, here I am_  
><em>Here I am<em>  
><em>This is me<em>

"How far we've come is unimaginable, eh?" Marius said after there was a small stretch of silence. There was a scattered murmur of agreement and Grantaire set down his guitar to grab another sandwich. He looked at his friends and smiled inwardly for if one could die of happiness, Grantaire would have been long dead.

* * *

><p>"Say it."<p>

Jehan, Combeferre, Courfeyrac, Marius, Grantaire, and Enjolras were standing and facing one another with anger ablaze in their eyes. What they were arguing about, well that was forgotten long ago and now they were just facing unspoken anger and built-up frustration.

"You have always been selfish, Courfeyrac," Marius snapped hotly, "always but I've still been your friend after all the hearts you broke. But you can't just lead someone on then break their heart a few days later!"

"After the way she snapped at R?" Courfeyrac said, flaring up at once. "There was no way I was sticking around with her. I know friends get in fights but what she said was rather uncalled for."

"Grantaire was being unimaginably rude!" Combeferre said heatedly. "You can't expect her to take his jesters lying down, can you? And Grantaire, you knew her situation beforehand and yet you chose to make it worse."

"What? By talking about college?" Grantaire spat, bristling. "You're just flouting because Courf was—"

"Don't finish that!" Enjolras hissed through gritted teeth. "You have no right to say it. Grantaire, you can be admirably audacious but Marius holds a strong point. You were very boorish."

"But what? Eponine can waltz around saying Grantaire has no future or a chance?" Jehan snarled, curling his lip back. He was never a contentious person but his anger flared when his friends were being treated unfairly.

"Yes, that was uncalled for but after all she's put up with him, I think he des—" Marius began with an angry tremble in his voice.

"Don't you dare say he deserved that!" Courfeyrac shouted, letting his voice rise in volume.

"This isn't the only person you've done this to, either," Combeferre growled, "sometimes, I think you should get a taste of your own fatuous self; for once, maybe you should be on the other side of the blow."

"It's not his fault you are too intransigent to say what's on your mind!" Jehan flashed, baring his teeth. "That was a low blow, Combeferre. Whether you come out with it or not, I won't permit you to talk to my friends like that."

Jehan barely had enough time to recoil before Marius had belted Jehan right in the jaw. This had taken everyone by surprise as they all looked extremely uncomfortable and confused. The little poet stumbled in Grantaire's arms and stay there, slightly dazed, before running his fingers along his jawline.

Jehan had leaped back up and was about to storm over, but Courfeyrac held him with a hand. Grantaire, however, had marched right over to an apologizing Marius and threw the (second) blow to his face. He made sure it was not a hard punch but enough to make Marius reel back.

Grantaire, who was once a boxer, flexed his fingers and took a step back. He then seized Marius by the arm and helped him up; to everyone's surprise, he pulled him into an embrace and ran a hand through his dark hair, apologizing sincerely.

Then without another word, he grabbed his messenger bag he had brought with him and slammed the door shut. Everyone was stunned enough to fall short of words. Jehan and Courfeyrac had sent one last glare over their shoulders before evacuating.

"I'm sorry," Marius said with a dejected shake of his head, "this was my fault. If I'd just kept my temper—Eponine is my best friend. It came a bit instinctively to stand up for her. Grantaire was right, she was being rude, too. She had no right to say Grantaire didn't have a future."

With that, he wore a grim smile before heading over to his bed. Combeferre kindly thanked Marius for having them over but said that he really must get home. Enjolras excused himself from Marius's house as well and hurried to walk alongside Combeferre, who was grateful for the company home.

**&.&.&.&**

**GrantaiRe the Great (13:12):** Thanks for taking her side. I suppose you're right. I have no future. I dunno why I bother if you think that. If Enjolras thinks that then all of you do.

Grantaire had not felt like this in such a long time he had no idea what to do with himself. He refused to go home, he did not want to go home. Instead, he, Jehan, and Courfeyrac headed to the playground near the lake. Their summer was nearly ending, but it was wasted in anger and resentment for each other all because they were choosing sides.

_"How many riots do you think Apollo is going to start in college?" Grantaire asked._

_He, Jehan, Combeferre, Courfeyrac, Marius, Eponine, and Enjolras were sitting in a circle at the very same playground beside the lake. Courfeyrac had his arm slung around Eponine in a lazy kind of way but the two looked very happy._

_"I"m going to go with seven," Jehan said and lifted the water bottle to his lips, "as the minimum."_

_"Then I'm going to say six is the minimum," Courfeyrac joked as he flashed him a smile, "we all know how persistent you are, E. No one denies it."_

_"Who said I'd be starting any riot?" Enjolras asked. "I'm really a pacifist. I don't prefer violence when trying to come across a point. I think words have a larger impact than violence."_

_"Oh, will you stop talking about college for one minute?" Eponine snapped hotly when Grantaire opened his mouth to reply. Instead, the cynic turned to her instead, anger flared up in his eyes._

_"Fine, dear lady. Let's talk about you, then, if you are so uninterested in what we have to say," Grantaire said with a raised eyebrow._

_"That's rich coming from someone who has no future," Eponine said coldly with a scowl upon her tanned features._

_"That's rich coming from_—_," Grantaire retorted then vacillated at the end. He caught Courfeyrac's impassive eye and immediately lowered his gaze, mentally cursing himself for letting his temper run._

_"Look, R. I'm sorry," Eponine said and bit her lip, "I didn't mean to sound callous."_

_"I'm surprised you apologized to someone with no future," Grantaire snapped, feeling his face flush (embarrassingly) and curled back his lip, "I'm leaving. I won't denigrate your sanctimonious goddess, Courf."_

_He snatched his bag and coat and stormed off. Jumping from the slide of the playground and walking home. He fumed the entire way, walking slower than normal as he walked along the lake's shore, mentally cursing at nothing._

_Courfeyrac slowly withdrew his arm and glared at Eponine. "That was a low blow, Eponine. I'm going, too."_

_Marius and Eponine were eventually, the only ones left on the playground as Jehan, Combeferre, and Enjolras excused themselves as well._

Grantaire's eyes filled with frustrated tears as he looked at his knees. He was angry at that girl, he was frustrated with Marius, and moreover grateful for his friend's company and overall loyalty.

But this had been their first real fight—he never fought with his friends. It had hurt a great deal but he would never admit it to his friends. Or perhaps he would because he just muttered those words out loud.

"I hate fights."

"I know, R," Courfeyrac said soothingly.

Grantaire muttered something inaudible and pulled out his phone. Sliding it open he dialed the first number that was in his history. Courfeyrac insisted that they did not want to mettle with Grantaire and Enjolras so he encouraged Grantaire to talk in private (in which he was grateful for).

"_Hm_?"

"Apollo? Enjolras! I was afraid you would not answer. H-how are you?" Grantaire said, tripping over his own words.

"_I'm doing well. But asking about my well-being is not why you called, Grantaire_."

"I wanted to know if you are mad," Grantaire replied, running his tongue over his lips.

"_You hurt them, Grantaire. I haven't the slightest idea what you want me to say_."

"I hurt them? And what about all the things they said to me? What about that? Do you not think their words were cacophonous? Are you really being this one-sided?" Grantaire barked, regretting his sharp tone.

"_Grantaire_."

"So you think I have no future? Than why do I try? Search me," he snapped.

"_That is not what I was trying to drag across. Grantaire, I think we should take a break of our friendship and try to cool down. 'Ferre and Marius are too angry to speak to Courfeyrac and Jehan right now. Is that understandable_?"

"That is pathetic. We have been doing that this entire summer," Grantaire scoffed, "can you not grow an opinion for yourself, Enjolras? Or because Combeferre and Marius are angry with us, you cannot draw yourself away from them either?

"_I am going to go. Goodbye_."

Grantaire was convinced his phone was mocking him as he stared down at the screen. His background was an eagle captured in flight. He believed to make him feel better but it only derided him. He had secretly loved the Greek god; he venerated Enjolras, he would do anything for him. And now they gone nearly the entire summer with exchanging a word.

But Grantaire felt a soothing hand on his shoulder as he was pushed back down. Evidently, Courfeyrac and Jehan had brought all of their belongings over to him, including the guitar. Grantaire swallowed painfully for his throat was arid but he pulled out his guitar again and looked at the strings.

"Play anything," Jehan encouraged and closed his eyes as Grantaire started strumming the first song that came to his mind. He was not sure if he could play with shaking hands for he was hurt more than angry.

_Sound the bugle now. Play it just for me_  
><em>As the seasons change, remember how I used to be<em>  
><em>Now I can't go on, I can't even start<em>  
><em>I've got nothing left just an empty heart<em>

"We'll regain the friendship, R," Courfeyrac tried to reassure. "Don't let a fight spiral you down."

_I'm a soldier wounded so I must give up the fight_  
><em>There's nothing more for me lead me away<em>  
><em>Or leave me lying here<em>

Jehan and Courfeyrac exchanged worried glances and pursed their lips at Grantaire who was impassively staring at the guitar in his arms as he continued to sing in a voice that did not sound happy.

_Sound the bugle now tell them I don't care_  
><em>There's not a road I know that leads to anywhere<em>  
><em>Without a light feat that I will stumble in the dark<em>  
><em>Lay right down, decide not to go on<em>

Grantaire suddenly felt something stir in his chest as he momentarily paused, letting the words fall silent but the tune continued to play. He was thinking rather than singing, he was thinking of his Apollo. He was not giving up on the one he had grown so fond of. He was not going to let that girl ruin him.

_Then from on high somewhere in the distance_  
><em>There's a voice that calls remember who your are<em>  
><em>If you lose yourself your courage soon will follow<em>

Courfeyrac and Jehan remained silent but their eyes gleamed with a sort of comfort at the sight of their friend. Perhaps the terrible months would be over and everything would go back to normal.

_So be strong tonight remember who you are_  
><em>Yeah, you're a soldier now fighting in a battle<em>  
><em>To be free once more. Yeah, that's worth fighting for.<em>

* * *

><p><strong>Another plot-less chapter! Fight for lost friendships! But if you have ever seen Spirit, these are Bryan Adam's songs! Thanks again and do tell me what you think. I have no idea where to go with this.<strong>


	5. Back As Freshman

**All rights remain.**

**Music to My Ears**

* * *

><p><em>Bang<em>.

"Courf?"

Grantaire and Jehan came forth around the corner to see their third friend lying, sprawled across the floor. A plastic box of art supplies littered the floor around the fallen man and a single, broken, portrait lay beside him. Grantaire moved to help Courfeyrac to his feet; Courfeyrac muttered his thanks then looked around.

"I-I'm sorry," Courfeyrac said and sent Grantaire a sheepish and guilty look.

Jehan took Grantaire's place as the artist scratched his nose and looked over to examine his broken painting. It was nothing exquisite or extreme but Grantaire could not help but feel a little sad that it had been ruined by Courfeyrac's foot.

Clipped to the top was an actual photo of Enjolras and Grantaire, they were smiling at the camera. And the portrait was a painting of that picture. However, it now had been stepped in half.

Grantaire picked it up and leaned it against the wall. Courfeyrac was looking at his shoes with sudden interest and Jehan was looking at the opposite wall, biting his lip and avoiding eye contact.

"Let's just get the rest of this in the flat," Grantaire said perkily and grinned, "it's not your fault, Courf. Don't be dense. I don't blame you."

Grantaire stooped down to pick up one of the boxes, nudging the door with his feet and pushing it open. Following at his heels with other boxes, Jehan and Courfeyrac came tramping in.

Grantaire set his box down, swept past his two friends, and hauled in the last few boxes. They have traveled purposely light, trying to make packing and unpacking easy on them. But now that Jehan and Courfeyrac were occupied with unpacking the boxes, Grantaire slipped past them.

His fingers groped at the painting as he bit his lip, running a judging eye over the painting and sighing inwardly. Despite his criticizing eye of the painting, he felt like it held more significance than the others.

So, with a calm composure, he stepped into the room, and threw the portrait into one of the empty boxes, took that, and disposed of it. Jehan and Courfeyrac watched with silent eyes but open mouths.

Grantaire, then, proceeded out the door; he had left without a word, which might have been concerning to his friends, but Grantaire was struggling. Ever since they have gotten into a fight at the beginning of their most recent summer, they have not exchanged many words; and when they did, their voices were curt and cold.

Through memory, Grantaire knew exactly where Marius, Combeferre, and Enjolras were staying. It was a block south from theirs and he yearned to go and visit them for a while but the loyalty towards his friends prevented him from doing so.

But now, his mind was whirling with just about every unpleasant thought, he suppressed the guilt and threw himself outside. The walk was both taking an eternity yet it seemed like he had taken two steps before he reached the entrance.

He swore that he would not go there but his feet carried him there despite his protesting legs. The cool's night air was nipping at his face, even though it was far from cold, the air seemed less so.

But now he was fully aware as he plunged himself up the stairs, two flights, and turned around the first corridor. His right foot pounded on the door for his arms were uselessly inert. It was Combeferre who opened the door; his eyes were impassive and his face was expressionless.

"I'm looking for Enjolras. I want to speak with him."

"What does that make us?" Combeferre asked and Grantaire swore he heard a glimmer of amusement in Combeferre's tone.

"I'm sorry," Grantaire said and leaned against the door frame with his coat falling off his slender shoulders. "I was being oversensitive about Eponine and her retort. I—I just get so worried because it's true."

"It's not true," Combeferre said and smiled as he helped Grantaire pull up his trench coat. Grantaire welcomed the physical contact and could not help himself as he threw his arms around Combeferre. The man returned the gesture and chortled.

"Enjolras is in his room if you want to speak with him but the door is locked."

Marius had come out to see who Combeferre was talking to and stopped short when he saw who it was. Instantly, he let out a stream of apologies but Grantaire cut him off in a tight embrace in which Marius returned, as well.

"We're going to apologize to Courf and Jehan," Combeferre said and grabbed his blue duffle coat and waved heartily before shutting the door behind him. Grantaire also knew that they wanted Enjolras and Grntaire to talk alone.

So Grantaire went over to Enjolras's door and knocked softly.

"Enjolras? Enjolras I am sorry. But please unlock the door and talk to me. Please...? I know you can hear me...Why are you ignoring me? Enjolras, it's hardly fair."

Grantaire waited in silence before knocking again, this time louder.

"I regret what I said, Enjolras. I was lying—I do care about you. I always did. Please, Enjolras...let me in. I-I am trying to make an effort and I would appreciate it if you could return the gesture."

Grantaire was now pounding on the door.

"Enjolras, I am apologizing to you. The least you could do is show some humanity and respond. I told you I regret what I said. I really do care about you. I don't care if you don't regret your words. Just talk to me."

Grantaire was shouting through the door now.

"Enjolras! I know very well you can hear me! You are being incredibly insensitive right now! Please talk to me—don't ignore me! That's a craven thing to do!"

He lowered his voice and softened his tone.

"I love you and I-I can't lose you. You are my world and I simply cannot lose that. Please, Enjolras. I only ask of one thing. Please, come out and talk to me. Please, Enjolras. For me?"

There was still silence and that was when Grantaire slammed his hand against the door with angry, grief-stricken, and frustrated tears pricked his eyes.

"Fine! Fine! God, you can be such a craven person at times! That's not the Enjolras I know. Stay in your room and barricade yourself within it! Fine! I tried reasoning with you but it turns out that you are as unreasonable as your speeches make you out to be."

With that, he kicked the door one last time before he stormed out of the flat and slammed the door shut behind him. He wiped furiously at his tears and nearly bowled into Cosette on the way out.

"Oh!" said she. "I was about to return this to Enjolras—he lent it to me last year and I have never gotten around to returning it. It's his Calculus notebook. Is he there?"

Cosette fell silent when she looked up from her hands to see a red-eyed Grantaire. She knew that he was not drinking for she did not ask him but merely offered him a sad and sympathetic smile as if she understood completely.

"He will come around," Cosette said quietly and rubbed his arm gently. "Enjolras is a fair man."

"How did you know?" Grantaire asked, suppressing his astonishment.

"I am a rather observant person. I can tell when friends are in fights. And I have spoken to Eponine before."

Grantaire pursed his lips but relaxed when Cosette kissed his cheek. "I will talk to you later. Would you mind terribly if I dropped by for a visit?"

"Indeed," Grantaire and the two quickly exchanged phones to program themselves as contact numbers.

"Hm. GrantaiRe the Great? I like that," she said with a beautiful smile.

"Feuilly and Enjolr–" his voice broke but he recovered, "they made it up for me."

"Clever," she hummed and looked at him with seriousness, "we will talk tonight, then. Well, I better return this and I should probably stop digressing. I will see you later, R."

With that she left him with another swift kiss to the cheek and flounced past him with an air of elegance that he could never achieve. But he turned as soon as she was out of sight and braced himself against the cold. It was an odd feeling and Grantaire sent a silent prayer to Cosette—she made him feel better.

**&.&.&.&**

Courfeyrac and Combeferre had temporarily removed Jehan and Marius from their flat, although Jehan had volunteered to get them some more apples from a little store a few buildings down from theirs. Marius instantly went with him, he jumped to the occasion and assisted Jehan out of their flat.

Combeferre and Courfeyrac were left to state at each other with proliferating discomfort. Courfeyrac had about a million (or perhaps a million and one) things running in his mind as the two sat in silence.

"I suppose they are right," Courfeyrac sighed and pursed his lips.

"What? That this whole fight thing was a ridiculous thing? I know, we all ended up laughing about it."

"Not that," Courfeyrac said with a slight shake of his head. "That I have pretty much fallen in love with you the day we met by the lake. You gave us your notes because R and I ditched for a drink."

Combeferre could not believe what he was hearing and was temporarily in denial. "I can't believe you remember that from that long ago."

"I drink but I don't have a bad memory," Courfeyrac joked and looked at Combeferre with seriousness, "I apologize if I was vague or giving you mixed signals, 'Ferre. Veraciously speaking, I do not think I could have ever fallen for someone with as much enthusiasm as I did with you."

"Ah, mon ami, those words are music to my ears," Combeferre said, smiling.

"I'll sing your name," Courfeyrac said with a flick of his eyebrows and Combeferre groaned while shoving the man away.

**&.&.&.&**

But he walked with little enthusiasm to the ABC Cafe; t'was a little cafe near their flats; Fantine, the beautiful hearted woman who owned it, offered them the upstairs to as their personal place for they became regulars there before even beginning their year at college.

Grantaire soon learned that alcohol was offered there at a very wonderful price.

But tonight, he refused to touch a drop of alcohol, perhaps it would improve Enjolras's mood, he brooded over this topic in his mind all the way there. Inside revealed Jehan, Marius, Combeferre and Courfeyrac sitting with one another. However, Courfeyrac was sitting in Combeferre's lap at one of the tables.

Grantaire jerked sideways in surprise at the sight of his friends but he instantly broke out into a smile. Courfeyrac simply waved and beamed at the stunned man.

"I see you have exchanged a few words, mon ami," Grantaire said to Courfeyrac and patted Combeferre on the shoulder as he walked past.

"What gave us away?" Combeferre asked sarcastically but did not protest when Courfeyrac determinedly kissed him. Grantaire forced out a chuckle but his tone was hollow and something of a giveaway.

"Enjolras will come around," Courfeyrac said and detached himself from Combeferre to pull Grantaire into a platonic embrace.

Grantaire shook slightly at the sudden contact but allowed himself to relax. He even closed his eyes but when Enjolras came forth, clearing his throat and speaking to Combeferre, Grantaire slithered out of the embrace, planted a kiss on Courfeyrac's cheek and retreated to the back corner.

The meeting had been casual, Enjolras spoke of what his goals were of this year and what his motives were and the steps of how they were going to achieve them. But as soon as their meeting ceased his men still lingered, but Enjolras's mind was on something else.

Enjolras watched Grantaire with diffidence, which was not a platitude expression. The cynic was drumming his fingers against his sketchbook, he would occasionally frown and erase something now and then.

Evidently so, Enjolras was not the only one keeping a close eye on the two newest comers. Courfeyrac had caught Grantaire's troubled glance and immediately sauntered over to his friend and bedighted his lap.

"I am having trouble adimpleating this damn page," Grantaire said and sighed in defeat, letting his head drop to Courfeyrac's arm.

"Ah, the woes of artist's block!" Jehan sighed and sat down next to Grantaire, rubbing his arm in a comforting way.

"What?"

Enjolras had spoken before he knew he did. He licked his lips nervously and hesitantly rose to his feet and walked over to his three friends at the table and sat down across from Jehan.

"Artist's block occurs when one doesn't know what to draw and whatever is drawn is usually disposed," Grantaire answered this time, sounding very bitterly so.

"It is the same as writer's block," Jehan further elaborated, "but in artist's terms. It is frustrating and downright discouraging. Surely you have suffered writer's block when you write your speeches, do you not?"

"Of course he doesn't," Grantaire said before Enjolras could reply, "Apollo is perfect with whatever he does. He's a god."

Jehan and Courfeyrac chortled but Enjolras scoffed at it dismissively.

"Of course I have writer's block," Enjolras said, speaking quickly and turning red, "I-I—it helps—"

This time, Grantaire actually looked up with thorough amusement. Enjolras turned even more red which only broadened Grantaire's smile; it was worth coming to the cafe if he got to see Enjolras flush like that.

"Everyone, ho! Words are failing Enjolras! This is a sight to behold!"

"R," Enjolras, careful to use Grantaire's nickname in levity, "thank you but I am human. I am not as perfect as you carve me out to be. You are the only one who is surprised."

"Your words are flowing back," Grantaire said and leaned his elbows on the table and smiled, "but do continue your sentence. I want to hear what you were going to say."

"I was going to say—" Enjolras was beginning to hate himself for bringing himself forth in this conversation in the first place, "that it is easier to find a source of inspiration in something."

"Oh?" Grantaire said and temporarily dropped his smirk. "What is your source of inspiration, Enjolras?"

"Mon ami," Enjolras said with a chuckle, "I'm staring at my inspiration!"

Grantaire turned around in such a jerk, it made him look as if he was electrocuted. Enjolras let out a bellowing and hearty laugh when Grantaire's, usually collective expression, turned to downright confusion and that's when he decided that it was time to express his feelings.

In one swift moment, he brushed his lips against Grantaire's and pulled back, waiting. There was an agonizing pause before Grantaire spoke again:

"Are you intoxicated?"

"You know how I feel about alcohol," Enjolras pointed out and scratched his nose.

Grantaire suddenly leaped to his feet, hastily giving farewells to his friends, and collected his things. With one more sweeping movement, he was out of the cafe before anyone could say another word. And suddenly, Enjolras wished he never came to the cafe that evening.

"I think I scared him off," Enjolras said dejectedly as Courfeyrac, Jehan, Bahorel, and Combeferre were sitting at the table he was sprawled on.

"I don't quite think that's it..." Jehan said, interlocking his fingers with Bahorel's.

"You make love too easy."

**&.&.&.&**

"E! Apollo! Apollo!"

Grantaire's voice echoed throughout the beautiful arched dome. No one, except Marius and Combeferre, saw Enjolras for the rest of the week. It was sight to behold that their leader had finally come out of his abode. And though they were concerned, they consulted in Combeferre and Marius, choosing not to go to Enjolras.

However, Grantaire broke that streak as he rushed over to his friend, catching him in a bone-breaking embrace. Enjolras did not stiffen to the contact like he usually did but he did not return the gesture.

When Grantaire pulled back, he frowned slightly, looking very troubled.

Enjolras, who was had a rarefied appearance and composure looked very opposite. His golden hair was still pulchritudinous but mussed as were his day clothes.

His clothes consisted of a long sleeved red shirt underneath his black blazer and khaki pants but it was far from his usually formal attire. And the biggest surprise were his eyes, they were red and bloodshot as if he was crying.

"Enjolras—are you well?" Grantaire asked, letting his arms fall to his sides, inertly.

"I—I came on Marius's account," Enjolras said quickly, "he asked me if I was coming and I said I was."

"Excusez-moi?" Grantaire said, taken aback.

"You have really outdone yourself, mon ami. I am very proud of you," Enjolras said and decided that changing the subject would keep his tears at bay long enough until his friend would leave him alone.

"My painting? Oh, thank you! It finally gave me an immense sum of money to display it in the gallery!" Grantaire chimed happily and bounced on his feet.

All of Enjolras's agitation and despair quickly evaporated as he broke out in the true smile he wore in ages. "Is that so? Well, do not keep me waiting! I must see this masterpiece! And speaking as one of your closest friends, I think I should have been one of the first to see it."

Grantaire chuckled as he guided Enjolras to his portrait. Enjolras flickered his gaze over his friend then to his hand then to the portrait. As he stood before, he did not speak, he simply stared at it. And that's when Grantaire started to get worried.

"I-I—of course this is not my finest work—perhaps the coloring has grown a bit enervated," Grantaire started but Enjolras grasped his wrist.

"I want you to explain your painting to me," Enjolras said and looked at him.

"Excusez-moi?" Grantaire repeated.

"Explain this," Enjolras urged and gestured to the beautiful painting. "Tell me about all these colors—the tempest gray, the evening indigo, the dawn's blue, the fiery red, the sun-kissed yellow. These swirls formed into something exquisite, I want you to explain it."

Grantaire liked the way Enjolras looked truly interested:

"This is Apollo and Orpheus. Apollo is teaching Orpheus how to play the lyre; and while he did this, he also taught Orpheus much more—like how to capture the beauty with something abstract. Apollo taught Orpheus to captivate the audience with something as simple as charm—but I wanted the critics to realize that charm is not just from music lyrics, rhythms, or words but something that can be preserved—like a painting."

Grantaire turned to Enjolras. "You taught me to capture the beauty in ways that stretch your imagination far too much. It stretched mine to an unbelievable distance and I speak as an artist. Last week, you told me I was your inspiration—that is when it hit me! I realized that you were it! You were my golden masterpiece."

Grantaire knew Enjolras's rude amandation earned him a reputation for curtness but Grantaire had tasted the love from Enjolras's lips right then and there.

He was in a darkened state of bliss.

Enjolras refused to look amorevolous but Grantaire could taste it.

His mind had grown dark, his senses became dulled, he was kissing a god.

"Will I be some brabeum?" Enjolras asked, through their breathlessness.

"I consider myself a bonifated man to simply be in the presence of you," Grantaire panted against Enjolras's mouth, "I doubt you'll be escaping my grasp any time soon."

"Music to my ears."


	6. Simply Sophomores

**All rights remain.**

* * *

><p>Grantaire stood in front of the mirror and stared avidly at himself. He did not care about his appearance, he knew he was in no comparison to his Greek god of a lover. Albeit, it did not abate his self-loathe; he stood there and picked at his flesh until he was bone. Grantaire would spend minutes just accusing every flaw.<p>

However, despite all of his self-loathe, he had no intention of dying. He enjoyed life too much to end it, even after all of his negative commentary against the world, itself. But now, he was with Enjolras.

Grantaire played with the edge of his phone.

When Enjolras confessed his well-hidden loved for him, Grantaire's desire for life proliferated immensely, despite his cynical outlook. Enjolras ameliorated his life to the stretch of imagination. It was unbelievable.

"Pathetic," Grantaire murmured to himself.

"What is?" Enjolras asked, coming to step up from behind. He smiled to himself as he fiddled with Grantaire's white tie. His eyes were heavily lidded as he pursed his lips, refraining himself from doing something.

"Not a 'what' but a 'who'," Grantaire muttered and sighed, offering a brave smile.

"Enough of that, R," Enjolras chided lightly and gifted Grantaire an alluring kiss, "those words do not belong on your lips, do not let them linger for a moment longer."

"You are a _god_! You are simply _divine_," Grantaire hummed as Enjolras twisted himself around Grantaire and fluttered kisses about the front of his neck. Grantaire instinctively threw back his head, exposing the sleekness of the arch of his neck.

"Now tell me, why must your roiled thoughts lead to self-consciousness?" Enjolras asked, pulling back. He was turning serious and sincere, very much like his Patriotic Enjolras.

"Look at me," Grantaire snorted, far from interested in sympathy (only understanding). He spread out his arms. "You are Apollo, you are the Sun God. You are heavenly thing, a divine thing. I am a mere shadow of your existence because I hold no capability of looking that pulchritudinous."

"R, you cannot compare yourself to another, it isn't right," Enjolras countered with a frown, "I could claim a thousand flaws of mine that I have adopted for every hundred flaws you believe _you_ endure."

"I deem it impossible!" cried he.

"You are kind beyond words. You find the beauty, trust, and goodness in those who may not see it in themselves. You can hold so much fire and compassion towards and for the world you long to dwell in. I, I can go through my entire life without realizing the good in others for I only cling to the negative prospects. I could have gone my whole life living with an unattractive stone heart but you made my heart beat. You stole my heart, my artist."

"You are wondrous," Grantaire rumbled deep in his chest and seized the man by the wrist and tugged him closer. "Whatever have I _done _to deserve this paradise?"

"If I am wondrous, then so are you," Enjolras insisted through his breathlessness as Grantaire trailed his soft lips over the jaw and neck. He pulled back briefly to look at the one in front of him.

"Let nothing destroy it," Grantaire hummed and offered himself as Enjolras began to lean in, taking in the familiarity as he did and welcoming it.

**&.&.&.&**

Grantaire was pulling on his jacket when his phone started to hum against the granite counter. The ringing would not cease which indicated that the phone was receiving a call, so he rushed over.

"Hello?"

"_R? R! It's Joly_—"

"—_and Bahorel!"_

_"You've got to help us, R! You've got to come down here! We're right by the cafe! We need_—"

Whatever Joly was going to say next, Grantaire's phone screen went black after the call was interrupted. He cursed and chucked his phone across the room instead of shoving it in his pockets and raced out of the flat, almost forgetting to shut the door.

Grantaire could feel his headache starting to spring up, it was not fair, he did not touch a drop of alcohol for three days; but the beating of his skull was beginning to throb.

Though his head hurt, his thoughts were getting to the ABC Cafe. Grantaire flew down the streets and from the outside of his flat, he could already hear the bellows of passionate people.

He ran up the leveled parking lot and looked down at the fray of people with a worried expression. He could spot his friends immediately and his heart skipped a few beats when the police started filing from the sides with white guns; despite his protesting legs, his feet brought him down to the sea of people.

The rally was spiraling out of control; Enjolras may have gotten everyone riled up a little too much with his passionate words and persuading speeches. Jehan, Feuilly, Joly, Bahorel, and Courfeyrac were in the front line with Enjolras and Combeferre, Marius, and Bossuet were facing the crowd, shouting their voices hoarse.

The police streamed and gushed out of their cars, pulling out their guns and held them to the crowd. And though, the white guns that indicated the rubber bullets but Enjolras, at the head and front of the pack, curled his lip back.

However, it really was not a pleasant feeling to be stopped with a rubber bullet. The ten students knew just how painful they were, they have all experienced the agonizing bullets.

But now the streets of Paris were flooding with the shouts and cries of antipathy. Not a single word could from the police could be heard over the roar of the crowd. Enjolras's voice drowned out three police voices as his fire held were more of a threat than the guns pointed at his breast.

The lines started to surge forward, Enjolras at the very tip of the crowd came forward first and refused to flinch or shrink back as the police lifted their guns or loosened the leash on the dogs.

"Taking people down, is that what you want?" the police nearest to the golden haired man asked with blazing eyes. "Letting people down is what you are only doing, boy."

Enjolras knew better than to let his words settle in his head, but how could he resist it? How could he help it?

He began to doubt his audacity for he actually fell completely silent as he stared, one-on-one, with the police. But, as soon as he looked over his shoulder with the sign of defeat, a hand slipped into his and interlocked their fingers.

Enjolras looked over his shoulder, interlocking his fiery gaze with Grantaire who had come over to join them in the fray. He did not smile but he gave him a look that spoke louder than his own words.

And Grantaire, one who was usually such a fan for affection more than seriousness, offered him a curt nod with pursed lips before he started shouting at the police. He raised his voice to top Enjolras's, then he turned over his shoulder and started egging on the crowd with Combeferre, Bossuet, and Marius flanking his sides.

Their fingers were still interlocked but the four of them raised their arms in a gesture of triumph and passion and the crowd merely roared louder. Where Enjolras was not standing, the crowds surged forward and came face-to-face with the police, shouting right back.

Grantaire's fingers clenched Enjolras's as his hand gave some kind of awkward jerk but Grantaire stole a glance over his shoulder and flashed Enjolras a look of support before he turned back and continued his crazy bellowing rant.

That was enough to ignite the fire back in Enjolras's eyes, his eyes were his heart. And that's when the gun shots started to ring out; it echoed the cries of surprise.

Enjolras felt the hand yank him backwards into the sea of people. The crowd was still swarming the officers, bellowing through the gun shots. The police continued to ring out the orders and took particular aim to bring the people to their knees.

The angry mob was building up and advancing all the while the shots were continuing to fire. Enjolras lost the feeling of Grantaire's hand in his but he did not think much of it for he was forced to throw his hands over his head and fall to his knees.

He dared to steal a glance through his elbows, he caught glimpses on the scenes before him and he pursed his lips in self-loathe and downright bitterness and anger.

Marius and Bossuet, who linked arms to keep together, jerked sideways and stumbled with a grunt. They fell to the ground with a clatter and a tangle of limbs for they were still holding arms.

Courfeyrac and Jehan were standing together, shouting their voices hoarse but Enjolras watched them falter with the expression of sheer agony upon their features. Courfeyrac let out an unearthly scream of pain as his fingers grappled to his legs and crumpled with Jehan, who cried out, blood flowering from his legs like Courfeyrac.

Combeferre and Bahorel were also standing together, they were a little ways off from Jehan and Courfeyrac but once they saw them fall, they made their way over. As more shots rang out, Enjolras watched as they doubled over in agony, howling as if tortured.

Joly raised his arms above his head in a gesture of encouragement but something had caught him in surprise and he looked at the sky before he crumpled to the ground in a spasm of pain.

Feuilly was racing around, trying to bring the people to their feet and the injured to wellness but immediately fell out of sight as he lay, writhing on the cement, a pool of blood forming from his side.

Enjolras felt hot tears prick his eyes for he knew he was the one responsible for this dissonance.

Combeferre was the first to stir from the hard cement as his body twisted in some kind of attempt to get to his feet. His glasses were askew upon his face but he hardly seemed to care as he craned his neck towards his friends.

"Courf!" Combeferre sobbed and forced himself to his feet. Although, it was the sight of Courfeyrac and that was enough to bring anyone to their feet. He knelt beside the limp body.

Marius and Bossuet were panting heavily as they fought to sit up. At the sight of one another, they started gushing over the other as they examined each other's wounded bodies, supporting one another by the shoulders and arms.

Bahorel was the next to rise to his knees. But he started to crawl towards Combeferre, Courfeyrac, and Jehan for his legs simply refused to work in his favor at the moment.

"Jehan's out!" Bahorel cried as he reached the other three. He tried to scoop his poet in his arms but Jehan shrieked in protest and let out a cry of shock.

"Stop! It hurts!" Jehan let out a sheer scream. He continued to beg Bahorel to set him down in which the man quickly obliged with concern written all over his face.

Enjolras's eyes were searching over his friends; Marius and Bossuet had stumbled together as the bullets pierced their shoulders, their shirts were dripping with, what it looked like, red ink from a pen.

Courfeyrac and Jehan were both shot in the legs, leaving them inert. They were breathing heavily, breasts heaving, and eyes fluttering but they were conscious which meant the bullets have not hit anything too vital.

Combeferre had blood cascading from his collar bone, in the hollow of his clavicle, blood continued to seep. Bahorel clutched his shoulder, in between his shoulder blades, blood bloomed.

Joly and Feuilly were hit in the sides and they were down. Enjolras had cost them their precious medical students, both Joly and Combeferre, and he could kick himself. They were simply outnumbered.

"Where's R?" Marius gasped, looking around and catching Enjolras's eye.

And that's who Enjolras was missing.

He looked around for his love with round eyes of worry. Enjolras barely noticed, as he stood, the bullet that grazed his arm. He winced but he sucked in his breath. He refused to stop moving until he caught sight of his cynical Dionysus.

"Grantaire?" Enjolras cried and stumbled through the crowd. "Grantaire!"

And as if by magic, there he was.

_Oh, but what was he doing?_

If Enjolras was not in such a delicate situation, he would not have believed it for himself.

Grantaire was ripping off pieces of his shirt and tying them around the fallen peoples' wounds. He flounced from one fallen person to the next, whispering words of encouragement or comfort. And when they would thank him, he would curtly nod in acknowledgment as they thanked him but he was busy tending to as many as he could reach.

Enjolras let out a dry sob and raced forward, Grantaire was well.

Grantaire leaped to his feet and hurried to Enjolras and seized the student by the shoulder and pulled him close. Enjolras no longer cared about the pressure Grantaire was putting on his wounded arm and how it was flowering blood, he had his love.

"I would have never believed it!" Enjolras gasped as they broke apart.

"I am cynical, not barbaric," Grantaire joked and gave Enjolras a swift kiss. Enjolras could taste the lingering, stale alcohol on the student's lips and he seriously could not help but point it out despite their current situation.

"You were drinking, Grantaire," Enjolras said and raised his eyebrow, "but kick the habit—"

Enjolras never got to finish his sentence for Grantaire suddenly yanked his arm (nearly out) and thrust him back; what Enjolras could see through the fray was someone throw out their arms out as he barred himself in front of Enjolras.

But very clearly, he saw the next firing squad aim their barrels at him. But before the shots rang out, Enjolras opened his mouth for a challenge. And though the shots did fire, he did not feel a single bullet.

Grantaire felt every burning second of the wounds as they sprung upon his bullet with each barrel. He did not even understand why he threw out his arms, as if that would offer any assistance. But now, he lay in a blanket of his own blood with undesired and unwanted pain. He even lost sight of his Apollo, his god and suddenly, he lost the motivation to fight.

But Enjolras was crawling to his Grantaire—his arm was pulsing out blood but it seemed like it was merely a scratch. His mind would never go anywhere but back to Grantaire—he needed to find the artistic student.

And there he was, laying there, panting heavily, eyes heavily lidded, and his breast heaving for the fight of a proper breath. His arm twitched as he writhed, groaning under the pain.

"R!"

Grantaire suddenly stopped moving and snapped his head towards the source of the sound of his name. Grantaire's face broke into a smile as he found his god crawling towards him.

"My dear, Apollo," Grantaire rasped, "this mortal thanks you."

Enjolras rose to his knees and tried patting Grantaire into emulation and his heart soared every time Grantaire would try. He could not help but smile because every time because Grantaire was pushing through the pain and making an effort for _him._

"I cannot apologize enough," cried Enjolras as he watched Grantaire begin to struggle again after a short break, "I sent us all into this dissonance—this is all on my account. I suffer."

"Quit suffering right now because I cannot do this alone," Grantaire hissed through gritted teeth, "I cannot escape without you—I need you, Enjolras. I cannot be left alone."

"I'm sorry," Enjolras said briskly, "I love you—just keep trying, mon ami. I am here for you."

He offered himself to buttress Grantaire but the man simply let out a wail of pain, anguish, and despair as he collapsed. And suddenly, he no longer looked like a man of wits or sharp barbed comments, just a little lost and kicked puppy.

"Just go!" Grantaire snapped, tears searing his eyes. "I mean it! Just go! I'll get out of this! I cannot feel my legs—they are as inert as this drunkard. Go! Make sure the others are well enough and I will find my own way out."

Enjolras delivered a swift kiss on Grantaire's lips before offering his hand.

"This will hurt a great deal," said he, "but you mustn't raise attention, we are getting out of here. Joly's flat is not far from here."

Grantaire simply nodded and threaded his fingers together with Enjolras's, his heart filled with love at the sight of his beloved god. Enjolras looked simply _beautiful _and Grantaire was unsure of why he was thinking all this right now but he could always think of Enjolras's beauty no matter what was happening.

And Enjolras returned the same loving expression, but his ephemeral fervor of love was bit back as Enjolras lifted him off the ground bridal style. And Grantaire simply could not bite back the howl as a fresh wave of furious discomfort washed up and down his torso and legs. He cried out again and threw back his head.

"I'm sorry," Enjolras said, his breast heaving with blocked emotion, "but we've got to get out of here."

By the time Enjolras returned to the edge of the crowd, not in the back, but at the left, his friends were all huddled around them. By then, Grantaire wished he would just die. The rubber bullets were not aimed to kill, only to inflict the worse of the pain; he hated suffering.

Combeferre cradled Courfeyrac in his arms just as Enjolras had done with Grantaire. Courfeyrac was completely limp in Combeferre's arms.

Bahorel was trying to persuade Jehan (either to his feet or to carry him) but Jehan was stubbornly slurring his argument. But once he caught sight of Grantaire and Enjolras, Bahorel emulated Combeferre and Courfeyrac and Jehan did not protest.

"That's everyone," Combeferre gasped and looked at his precious treasure clutched close to his chest.

"Then let's get out of here," Marius growled through clenched teeth. He was buttressed by Bossuet but Bossuet was struggling to stay upright, himself. His eyes fluttered dangerously.

The walk to Joly's was swift and quiet, silent, almost with the exceptions of the small groans of pain. Courfeyrac and Jehan had their arms around Combeferre and Bahorel's necks for support and would occasionally let out a grunt of pain.

But Enjolras's bundle in his arms could only flicker his heavily lidded eyes to him then close them.

There were a few times in which Enjolras stumbled through the pain of his arm and Grantaire's eyes would fly open as he gasped with as much pain that echoed in his voice as if he screamed out in agony.

Every time this occurred, Enjolras would mollify him with gentle and chaste words. And Grantaire would respond with a chuckle and a swift smile. It was enough to melt Enjolras's "marble" heart.

The group of ten was so sure they were not going to make it far enough without having one collapse, but it was the fire of determination that kept them upright and on their feet. Marius was now assisting Feuilly immensely for there was a bullet wound in his side.

"How are you feeling, R?" Enjolras whispered to the man in his arms.

"Like I've just been gunned," Grantaire replied but he flashed his friend an attempted smile.

Joly's flat was stationed on the first floor but they had to climb ten or eleven stairs of cement. The stairs may have been the worse bit. Both Courfeyrac and Grantaire let out a stifled moan of agony as the stairs created a jerking and uneven motion. Jehan simply dug his palms into his eyes to stop himself from crying out.

Feuilly had barely made it up the stairs for his side was still producing blood that dripped on to the cement stairs.

"Here!" Joly gasped.

He was held up by Bossuet, but when they arrived he braved and walked to the front, unlocked his door, and made sure everyone was sitting before he finally collapsed beside the door.

Enjolras put Grantaire on the floor next to Jehan and Courfeyrac while Marius, Feuilly, and Bousset remained on the couch. There was not enough room to support the three leg-wounded men. And neither Combeferre, Enjolras, nor Bahorel left their sides.

"Thanks for not leaving me," Grantaire whispered, "if you'd left, I would want to be dead. I apologize, I overestimated my reflexes. I really did think I was quicker or fast enough."

"Hush, R. I am never leaving you. And no one could out-pace a bullet, mon ami. Now quit talking and focus on me and keep breathing calmly."

Grantaire offered a lopsided smile. "I always focus on you, j'taime. Seriez-vous d'accord si je vous embrassais?"

"Oui."

That was enough for the artist as he pulled Enjolras by the shirt and brought him down and clamped his mouth on Enjolras's. They rarely shared kisses, it was something Enjolras was still growing accustomed to and Grantaire offered him as much space as he needed.

The kiss was filled with yearning and love and that was the best remedy to a bullet to the body.

"I'm sorry," Enjolras breathed, bringing their heads together, blue eyes staring with such intensity. Grantaire merely cut him off with another heart filled kiss and effectively shut them both up.

"Did you know that you are very beautiful when you look immensely guilty?" Grantaire asked with a small smile; he had the ability to lighten the darkened moods.

"Did you know that you can be very facetious when you are severely injured?" Enjolras shot back, his lips curved into a smile; his eyes danced with a different kind of fire.

Grantaire pulled him for another kiss but he actually yelped when he made the sudden move. Enjolras pushed Grantaire back into a lying position and pillowed his head with his hand as their foreheads touched.

"I'm looking up at a god, perhaps I am dying and going to heaven," Grantaire murmured playfully as Enjolras continued to hold him close.

That got another smile out of his love; going to the riot and getting shot might actually have been worth it since he got Enjolras to carry him. His heart fluttered but not because of his injuries.

"J'taime but you are too garrulous," Enjolras jested.

Grantaire rumbled deep in his chest because speaking was becoming too arduous. Instead, he just let Enjolras rake through his hair before he let sleep to take him by the hand and lead him through the darkness.

* * *

><p><strong>I apologize for the shortness of the chapter.<strong>


	7. Jesting Juniors

**All rights remain.**

"We're just kids!"

"You are a junior in college. I hardly consider you children."

Bossuet, Grantaire, Marius, Courfeyrac, and Joly were sitting in the headmaster's office of their school with bowed heads and a hidden smirk. The headmaster, himself, was sitting at the head of the table with a very pronounced scowl etched in his features as he glared over the rim of his glasses.

"Coating our floors in soap is not the way students in college should be acting."

"Headmaster?" Grantaire piped up and flashed his friends a wink then turned to the Headmaster. "I am a firm believer in the separation of power. I believe Professor Lamarque should be in charge of our punishment."

"And why is that, because he pardons most students and their reckless behavior or because he is easier on the punishments?"

"Both," Courfeyrac muttered under his breath.

Grantaire cleared his throat and started his harangue:

"And I daresay, keeping five innocent students is far from fair. The separation of power amongst the government, introduced by none other than the Montesquieu himself, a Frenchman during the Enlightenment, was highly encouraged to strive for a successful economy. Oh! And I would like to point out Voltaire had inspiring ideas right next to Rousseau. These men were brilliant. And having a boyfriend who is very into political science and having to listen to his adorable but boring speeches of rights of government, I have a pretty firm idea of what is fair—"

"Be still for a moment, Grantaire!" cried the Headmaster.

"—And I think one person should not have the right to hold the power of the school over the students. As Montesquieu said, the separation of power is key to fairness and would actually decrease the dissonance. Therefore I do not believe you should have the right to punish us. Really, you are practicing a monarchist system right within our own school or perhaps a constitutional monarchist if I were to lighten the accusation."

"He gets very verbose," Marius muttered but he fought down the smirk.

"I can tell," the Headmaster replied with a quirked eyebrow.

"I have the wonderful and beautiful and gorgeous Enjolras to thank for my extensive knowledge in government balance and rights between its system and its people," Grantaire jested as he folded his legs by the ankles. "Now, due to that beautiful speech, will you free these poor peasants?"

"You have to admit, R's speech was impressive," Courfeyrac said in a singsong voice. "Really, well done. Enjolras taught you well, R. And R is a very efficient student, sir. Grantaire is in Cosette's performance and she only chooses the top performers. He's got to go to rehearsal in a few minutes."

"Thanks and that's right, Headmaster," Grantaire said with a snap of his fingers.

"Get out of my office. All of you."

And all five of them left with a little smirk for it was not the first time Grantaire managed to worm his way out of punishment.

**&&..&&**

"Are you excited?"

"Nervous."

Grantaire and Jehan were sitting backstage.

The Performing Arts (in which these two earned a scholarship for), was putting on a production for the parents of the incoming enthusiastic actors; a few selected students have been chosen to represent each branch of the arts of their college.

Jehan was a representative of the Poetic Literature branch. Grantaire was a representative for the arts department. And Cosette was a representative of the performing arts center (also known as the P.A.C).

The artist, who was more comfortable rambling about art than performing in front of a crowd. But Cosette, the angel, asked him if he could assist in her own performance _and how could he deny those pulchritudinous eyes?_

So, Jehan and Grantaire were sitting behind the curtains. Grantaire never had stage-fright but perhaps it was Enjolras and the fact that his surveying and silently judging eyes were watching him.

"Go!" Jehan shouted and shoved him forward.

Grantaire was so nervous he nearly missed his cue. He rushed out on the stage, getting tangled in the curtains along the way. Half the audience turned to him and the other half was on Cosette. _How could they not look at her?_

Cosette was in a beautiful white dress with a single red sash around her waist. Grantaire struggled to tug the dress gloves from his pocket and slipped it on his shaking hands.

Immediately, the lights were bright in his face as the music began to play, echoing softly throughout the auditorium. His fingers twitched restlessly as he looked about the crowd.

He was so deep in thought and regret, he did not notice when someone came forth to address him; Grantaire jumped when Cosette tapped him on the shoulder and whispered "thank you".

He soundlessly nodded and swallowed with an arid mouth and his eyes went back to his friends. And right in the front row was Enjolras, Combeferre, Feuilly, Bossuet, Courfeyrac, Bahorel, Joly, Marius, Musichetta, and Éponine, preoccupying the first row of seats.

Cosette continued to wave at the crowd with her beautiful smile and dainty stance; and Grantaire suddenly began to feel self-conscious in his suit and tie and suddenly found himself wishing he did not agree to participate.

As the music started proliferating in volume, Cosette began to proclaim her goddess-like voice. The rehearsals seemed to escape his mind until the stage light turned to him.

And through all his training, Grantaire started his performance. He hopped around the other dancers as they tugged at his jacket and hat. With a gloved hand, Grantaire tipped his hat to the audience with a wink on cue.

It was when Cosette began to sing, it was a beautiful melodic voice she had, Grantaire was suddenly feeling better. He loved her voice for it was mollifying. Cosette was swinging over to Grantaire, pulling him by the tie and smiling while singing.

Marius let out a disgruntled grunt from the chairs.

Grantaire blushed furiously against the white light. He reached out to hold her but she flounced right out of his grip with a mischievous smile. Grantaire hummed when Cosette flew over to the other side of the stage.

Grantaire brought himself to her, his legs ached by the time he made it to Cosette, who was swinging at the other side of the stage. He took her by the wrist and tried bringing her to his chest.

Cosette, whilst singing, tugged his jacket off, and Grantaire tipped his dress hat to her. He flashed her a smile as she directed her voice to him. The morning larks came early. Cosette threw her arm at him and caught him by the shoulders.

Grantaire helped her stand upon a raised platform and frolicked about the platform as she sung. Really, his job was to look in love with Cosette. He loved her but all friend-wise.

She sang a few verses then Grantaire seized her by the waist, secretly shooting Marius a furtive guilty look, and brought the girl down and held her bridal style.

He did not know how long it had been but the lights were giving him a headache and the music was pounding in his ears. The first mistake he made was taking a fraction of a second to look at the stands and nearly froze when he caught Enjolras's gaze.

Cosette spun out of his arms and leaped lightly to her feet. She continued to hop and flounce around the stage, raising her arm to help her with her high notes, until she began to her whistle tone. Her talent of singing notes many have trouble hitting seemed to bring the crowd to their feet.

Cosette ended with a single bow. She, next, grasped Grantaire's shaking hands and took another bow with him. The third time, Grantaire seized the hands of Cosette's dancers and made a final bow.

And though he would never admit it, Grantaire was breathless by the end. And the more he tried to disguise it, the harder time he had.

When the performers headed backstage, Jehan rushed over to greet them all with excited hugs; the poet was bouncing around on his feet, hopping around the group as he let out a flow of compliments.

But he was soon fussing over Grantaire's paled face. He kept pressing the bottle of water in his hands and tugging at his shirt, insisting that he looked overheated, but Grantaire (breathlessly) argued.

"I'm fine, my darling poet."

"You were amazing out there!" Jehan gasped when Grantaire's hands stopped his. Instead, he threw his arms around the cynic and rubbed his back. "You were really amazing. I think Cosette could burst of happiness with your performance."

"Let's just hope," Grantaire murmured and pulled back. "Thank you, Jehan. You, mon ami, know exactly what to say to an uneasy man. I am an art student, not an actor."

"But you just proved yourself wrong," Jehan cachinnated and offered him a warm smile. His grin grew as he seemed to be staring at something from over Grantaire's shoulder.

"What?"

Grantaire was cut short when someone tackled him; Courfeyrac leaped on his back and hugged him from behind. The unexpected victim stumbled slightly with the extra weight but he let out another bellowing laugh and closed his eyes.

"You were absolutely stunning on stage! Gorgeous, really! Simply alluring. You could reel in the curious eyes from a mile's radius!" Courfeyrac cooed in Grantaire's ear. "Enjolras thought so, too."

Grantaire pecked Courfeyrac's cheek and craned his neck to look at his friend. averted his lowered gaze to Enjolras. All of his friends wore formal attire (suits and ties) but Grantaire thought Enjolras simply _radiated _with his outfit. He flashed Enjolras a lopsided smile.

"Is that so?" Grantaire inquired flirtatiously and winked.

Enjolras merely pursed his lips that were threatening to spill over into a wild smile. But the chauvinist kept his calm composure and simply stared at the man with a level gaze.

Courfeyrac nimbly leaped off Grantaire's back and shoved the performer towards him. Grantaire nearly lost his dress hat in the stumble but he caught it with a flying hand of quick reflexes.

"Does that mean you liked it?" Grantaire asked. "Cosette would be pleased to hear the revolutionist was impressed by her work because praising words never pass those lips of yours."

"Then I will, for sure, make note of telling Cosette how wonderful her performance was," Enjolras breathed and walked the rest of the distance towards Grantaire and stopped in front of him. "Now stay there while I do something aberrant."

"I'm worried."

Enjolras chortled and strode over, taking off Grantaire's hat and putting it on and very carefully, Enjolras gingerly tested each of Grantaire's hands and slipped the leather gloves onto his own hands.

And after Enjolras was content with his appearance, he leaned towards Grantaire's lips and smiled against them at the surprised moan from the other man; it was a delectable sound. They stepped back and Enjolras tipped his hat in acknowledgement.

"Adorable, perfect, stunning," Grantaire murmured. "I could go on! You masterpiece! And I daresay, that hat makes you very appealing."

"I'm surprised no one else is coming up to you and falling to your knees," Courfeyrac chirped and pecked a surprised Combeferre on the lips. The student groaned but did not push the other away.

"Everyone knows he's taken by a protective drunkard," Grantaire hummed and quirked an eyebrow at Enjolras before turning to greet the approaching Cosette.

"Great job," she cooed and planted her lips on his neck. "Thank you for helping me, R. I know it was not the most exciting job and I am sure you wanted to spend your night doing else but I appreciate it so much."

Grantaire actually flushed. "You are awfully sweet."

Marius began calling her over so the lark flew back over to her dearest with another hearty wave. Grantaire turned back to his friends, who each burst out their compliments in loud voices.

"Where's 'Ponine? Why isn't she gushing at my performance" he jested but was looking about the room.

"She went out for a smoke," Feuilly replied and beamed, "aren't you excited? You get extra credit, something good to put on a job application, and just about everyone adoring your performance."

"That's a bit over the top, don't you think?" Grantaire said with a chuckle. "Regarding cigarettes, Feuilly, I don't like it when you or Eponine smoke, and I know I have a drinking issue, but I'm being damn serious. You've got to quit."

Feuilly, who was taken aback by Grantaire's sudden confession, looked with an air of awkwardness that was more commonly found on Jehan. he simply walked off and gravitated towards Marius and Cosette, striking up an inaudible conversation with them.

"Sorry," Grantaire rushed. "I didn't mean to sound that rude. I just wanted to get my point across while we lingered on the subject."

The others remained silent, Grantaire event turned to Enjolras who offered him a ghost of a smile, but no words. The cynic was trying to replay his words in his head, afraid that he said the wrong thing.

"And now I am the antagonist," Grantaire said and flared out his collar, "I'm going to change out of this; I'll see you tomorrow and if you see Feuilly, tell him to meet me at the food bar...please."

"I'm fine, my dear Jehan," Grantaire added when the poet opened his mouth. He turned to Bahorel. "And before you start castigating me, I know. I sounded incredibly cacophonous to someone who I claim as a brother; in other words, I know I sounded like a bastard."

Grantaire raised his chin, lingering for a moment longer before stomping off to change out from his clothes.

**&&..&&**

"R?"

"Feuilly?"

Grantaire was tapping nervously at his knee, sitting at the curb of the street in the spring's night air. Feuilly had, indeed, come on his will; Grantaire felt honored.

"I've come," Feuilly said and sat down beside him. "What is it you wanted to talk to me about?"

"I wanted to apologize for my random outburst," Grantaire admitted sheepishly. "I realized, now, how callous I sounded back there."

Feuilly fidgeted uncomfortably and Grantaire took that as an invitation to continue:

"And I realize how selfish it sounded. Words like that, especially coming from my alcohol stained lips, makes it all the worse. If I could have gone back in time to reword what I said, I would. And I would tell them to you know but the time is delicate and I suppose you don't want to hear them."

Grantaire finished with an sort of uneasiness and settled into the silence, wishing it would make him invisible from the scrutinizing gaze of his friend. Perhaps he should have worded _that _differently.

"I don't want to hear it but I need to," Feuilly said after the silence was becoming overwhelming. "I don't smoke often, perhaps three or four cigarettes a week. That is how many bottles of alcohol you consume."

Grantaire flinched at the mention of his alcoholism but he shrugged it off. "I have grown very fond of you, Feuilly. I would hate to see you ill at such a young age from all of the tars and smoke you've inhaled. Of course you are not an addictive smoker as I am to alcohol, but I still worry about you. Mon ami, it is a mere instinct of mine."

"I don't blame you, R," Feuilly said at once, "I would worry about myself as well. I'll cut back if it makes you feel better. And in return, will you cut back on your drinking?"

"For you, mon ami," Grantaire said immediately afterwards and broke into a smile. "I have been yearning to tell you this since the moment I figured it out but I haven't, until now, found the right words to express it in an acceptable demeanor."

Feuilly grasped his wrist in a comforting way and gave him a nod. "Upon a happier note, you really did well at the performance."

"Thanks, mon ami," Grantaire said with a good natured smile. "Your words of kindness raise my sunken spirit."

"You do have a poetic shoulder."

"I am an artist, I need a poetic shoulder."

Feuilly chuckled and Grantaire rose to his feet, stretching out his arms, his skin clinging to each rib bone more tightly as he raised an arm over his shoulder and stretched.

"Thanks for the talk, Feuilly," Grantaire said once he fixed his shirt, "I'll see you tomorrow, of course. You better be off before Bahorel calls you out on your absence and tells everyone you've been flirting with a dog again."

Feuilly groaned. "I wasn't flirting with a dog in the first place!"

"Dear Feuilly, do we not portray enough brotherly love that you must resort to a dog's love?" Grantaire jested and earned himself a well aimed blow in the shoulder.

"I swear..."

"I love you!" Grantaire called, dancing out of reach and running down the block. "Have fun with the dog tonight!"

* * *

><p>"I'm grinning but I'm serious; where are we going?"<p>

"Be patient."

Grantaire sat in the car, unaware of where they were going; Enjolras was pushing away every attempt Grantaire was pulling to get his Apollo to tell him where they were going.

"We are almost there," Enjolras said calmly and slowed down the car.

Grantaire fidgeted in his seat, trying to stifle the smile that was ready to spill over.

"Now you can look."

In Grantaire's view was a two-story penthouse. It stood out against the surrounding trees that screened the house from different angles but the house, itself, was very open. Large windows covered most of the walls.

"The others are coming tomorrow morning but I thought we could enjoy an evening to ourselves," Enjolras said and got out in which Grantaire followed in emulation.

"This is incredible," Grantaire breathed and continued to look about. "When did you take the time to rent this place?"

"I didn't rent it," Enjolras said simply and shrugged nonchalantly. "It's my grandfather's. He gave me the key a while back."

The silence came back with open arms as the two were engulfed in their own thoughts. Enjolras was drumming his fingers on the top of his car, looking at the surface instead of the other standing across from him.

Grantaire was admiring the house in such an awestruck state of mind, he could not make a word that would make sense. Enjolras, who was very calm during all of this, began to worry. He may have misinterpreted Grantaire's silence as something bad.

"I-I hope you like it," he said and starting tapping a single finger on the top of the car. "I thought you would like to hang out here for break. Courfeyrac wanted a vacation."

"It's the best," Grantaire said and beamed. "I don't know what I did to get you but I'm glad."

"I love you," Enjolras said a little swiftly. "Let's unpack, what did you bring?"

"My backpack," Grantaire said at once and lifted it into view. "It's got my clothes and a few sketchbooks and pencils in here. I'm a light packer."

"Right," Enjolras said and slammed his door shut. "I have everything here, already. Do you want help unpacking?"

"Go to the lake," Grantaire said with a nod for emphasis. "I'll see you there in a few."

Enjolras tossed Grantaire the keys and headed around the house whilst Grantaire headed inside. The modern interior kept him gaping at every angle. The dark woodwork, the window frames, the floor, held in contrast with the lighter furniture. Perhaps this was another thing that would inspire him to another masterpiece.

He set off to the room that had his name taped to the door and looked about, calculating it with a sharp eye. It was the window that Grantaire loved the most. It offered an open view of the lake's shore that could be seen very clearly from his room. There was a desk against the window to look out to. The bed and closet were on the two blank walls. He loved the plainness and emptiness of the room.

With a wild grin, he set his backpack on his bed and hurried out of the sliding door that blended in with the wall windows. He jogged lightly to the shore, ran onto the pier, to where he could see Enjolras standing, and seized him.

"R!" Enjolras hissed, rubbing his chest. "What was that?"

"My way of telling you I love this place," Grantaire said though he did not relinquish his grip.

"Most people just use words," Enjolras said but fought back the smile. "But you go for the tackling. It's curious, usually you are never hesitant to use your annoying comments."

Grantaire chortled, took Enjolras's phone out of his pocket, and shoved him off the edge of the pier. Enjolras let out a cry that was cut short when he hit the water. Though the water had Enjolras treading, it could not have been much deeper than him.

"Grantaire!" Enjolras snapped. "You probably broke my phone. I need that phone."

"Oh hush," Grantaire said and grinned. He pulled it out and turned it to show Enjolras. "Your phone is in perfect condition, mon ami. I like your background; I remember this, too."

It was the picture of Jehan's dog and their friends surrounding the dog like it was some divine thing. It was a random and rather meaningless picture but they took a liking to it.

"Now help me out," Enjolras grumbled and reached out his hand.

Grantaire, reluctantly, seized Enjolras by the elbow and hauled him from water. Though dripping from the water, Grantaire let out a short burst of laughter and forced Enjolras into a tight embrace.

"Great, love you, Grantaire," Enjolras said and shoved him, none too gently, off the dock and burst out in a bellowing laughter. "You deserved that, R. Honestly, you started it."

Grantaire could only mock pout in the water then ducked under the surface and swam to where his feet could touch.

**&&..&&**

"How was your evening...alone?"

"Courf, that is strictly inappropriate; you are talking to my brother figure," Combeferre chided but was effectively cut off from his sentence with a quick peck on the lips.

"We watched movies until eleven, slept till six, then woke up to the presence of you lot," Grantaire said and tossed Courfeyrac his water bottle. Courfeyrac frowned but shrugged indifferently.

"I've got 'Ferre to love me," he claimed. "So to devil with you, R."

"You know I love you."

"What are we doing today?" Jehan asked, breaking the two from their argument. "Bahorel and Enjolras are coming with me to kayak up the stream."

"I am?" Bahorel blinked.

"Now, you can't just take him away," Grantaire protested. "But I am definitely in."

* * *

><p><strong>This is going nowhere but I thought it would be fun to write about a kayaking trip; that'll be the next one.<strong>


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